


Capstone

by bek_48



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 112,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26650792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bek_48/pseuds/bek_48
Summary: Seventh Year is upon them, and Hermione Granger has several priorities:-Keep Harry and Ron out of trouble-Prepare for NEWTs-Grin and bear being partners on a year-long project with Draco MalfoyThrow in an excessively vague prophecy, a scavenger hunt for some odd enchanted stones, and tracking down an escalating prankster, and she is sure to have her hands full, to say the least.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 126
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger awakens with a smile on her face. Surely, the first day of seventh year classes is going to be quite an event. She practically bounces out of bed and acknowledges what she has already accomplished this year:

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble over the summer: complete  
-Celebrate becoming Head Girl: complete  
-Compile an impressively exhausting list of seventh year capstone project ideas: complete  
-Catch up with friends: in progress  
-Summer reading: complete  
-Fall reading: complete  
-Spring reading: in progress  
-First official day as Head Girl: resoundingly complete

The first day of the school year, consisting of welcoming the first years (particularly scared looking muggleborns) along with her counterpart, Head Boy Blaise Zabini (who rather ignored those same scared looking muggleborns). The initial meeting with her team of prefects went quite well. The feast and the sorting ceremony went on without a hitch, despite the palpable feel of tension rippling throughout the Great Hall.

Well, mostly without a hitch. There was that odd bout of magic where an unfamiliar symbol appeared glittering in the air above all the tables in the great hall, to the muttered surprise of the students. It wasn’t dark magic - no horrific skulls or snakes - but she took note of the two triangles surrounding a circle to research what it could symbolize. And certainly, one additional hitch was that the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables were glaring daggers at each other across the hall. Both tables cheered as enthusiastically as ever for new first year students sorted into their house, but seemed to boo more enthusiastically than ever for their new rivals. The Hufflepuffs seemed to not thrive so well under the tension and wilted, while the Ravenclaws turned up their noses at the other houses for being so emotional.

Still, there were no incidents to report, and aside from a brief grimace and shrug from Blaise at the end of the evening, no one seemed to want to dwell on the issues. Of course, with a clandestine war being fought outside the castle walls, she understands both the tension and the desire to ignore it.

Awake long before breakfast, she runs through her morning routine with enthusiasm (journal, read, stretch, shower, desperately attempt to tame hair, dress, wait several minutes for Harry and Ron to be late for meeting her in the common room before heading to breakfast).

The boys look bleary-eyed and she smirks as they trudge into the Great Hall behind her.

“Please tell me you boys didn’t have yourselves a welcome back party last night,” she says, suppressing a grin and quirking an eyebrow at them.

Harry groans lightly in response, while Ron slumps into an exhausted heap on the bench and lunges for a pastry.

“I hate that I already have you remind you that I'm the Head Girl. Shall I take away points this early in the year?” No longer able to repress the grin, she rolls up a copy of the Daily Prophet and lightly smacks Ron on the head.

Ron echoes Harry’s earlier groan and gestures behind him towards a similarly sloppy looking Seamus and Dean. Neville is nowhere to be seen.

“Seamus’ fault,” Harry mumbles, head buried in the crook of his elbow as he slumps at the table. “Smuggled in some firewhiskey as a welcome back gift...never again, I swear to you,” he burps.

“I don’t recall receiving an invite,” Hermione rolls her eyes - on the first night before classes, with nothing even to celebrate yet! She of course had participated in the occasional post-exams common room celebrations, but - with classes in the morning?? Absolutely not.

“It was boys only,” insists Ron.

“Ah, so only the manliest discussions then.”

“Exactly. Quidditch, whiskey, tits - you know the like.”

With a final eye roll, she summons coffee for the boys who grumble again but chug it down. It’s a little awkward still, she notices, to listen to them talk about girls in such a way. She is no stranger to her own roommates talking about who they might fancy and why, but to hear Harry and Ron do so in such an overt way (tits! how generic!) was somewhat unsettling.

Some vain part of her sometimes wonders if her name ever comes up in those boy talk sessions (what would they even say? “She’s great at homework!” doesn’t seem like boys-club talk. “She has average tits!” more likely, or something underwhelming about carpets and drapes, as she can never escape the atrocity of her own hair). One final, final eye roll, and she immediately wants to change the subject.

“You dolts haven’t forgotten about the meeting for all seventh years this morning, right? To assign the capstone teams?”

Ron shrugs, mouth bulging with biscuits.

“You - you’re not serious, are you? We’re to meet with the rest of the class in the fifth floor auditorium to find out our capstone teams?”

Harry blinks at her, frowning.

She gapes, exasperated. “The year-long capstone project? Honestly, I-” she pauses and notes the corners of both boy’s mouths starting to twitch. “Very cute,” she snaps.

The boys let out hardy laughs and continue to eat with the appetites of two very hungover quidditch players.

“I thought for sure you’d yell at us for at least five minutes before catching on,” admits Ron with a snigger. “Come on now, Hermione!”

“I knew you’d catch on quickly! Ron, you owe me five galleons,” grins Harry.

“You know, the fact that I absolutely believe you would have forgotten that the project even exists is more of an indictment on you than me,” she sniffs.

Seamus comes over and slumps onto the bench next to her looking extremely worse for wear. “Oy,” he groans with a lopsided smile. “I hope you’re not sore at the lads, eh Hermione?”

“I am sore at the lads, Seamus, but don’t worry - I’m sore at you too! You should know better than to get pissed on the first day of school, let alone drag these two dolts along with you.”

He leans over and puts an arm around her shoulder, grin widening. “Why - is there something important going on this morning?”

The boys snigger again and tease her throughout the rest of breakfast, and Harry and Ron continue to do so on the way to the fifth floor.

“Any preferences on teammates?” Ron asks as they arrive and find three seats together as the rest of the class starts to file in.

Hermione glances around at her classmates and shrugs, trying to seem as open-minded as a Head Girl should. “I’m sure it will be a pleasure no matter who is on the team.”

Ron grins. “I’m sure you already have contingency plans in place if you get one of the class dummies. Imagine having to drag MacMillan through the year. Or that tosser, Corner.”

“Ernie is lovely, and Michael is very smart - I’d consider myself lucky to be on a team with either,” she insists, inwardly cringing while thinking about Ernie’s good natured, friendly, slow-at-working attitude.

“Corner’s not that smart,” grumps Ron while Harry casts his eyes down, both clearly remembering Ginny’s dalliance with the dark-haired boy. “Anyway, who would you pick from Slytherin if you could? I have a favorite in mind from that lousy lot.”

At Ron’s grin and nod towards the other side of the room, she follows his eyes to see Pansy Parkinson chatting with Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. Pansy has certainly grown into her pug-face and become quite pretty, face full of bored confidence. As Pansy notices Ron’s ogling and glares at him, he winks obnoxiously at her and Hermione briefly wonders what her boys were saying about Pansy after a few too many shots of firewhiskey (“Great tits,” Ron would’ve enthused, most likely; “Good at charms” - probably not).

“Who, Malfoy? Wouldn’t have guessed, but I suppose he’s your type - blond and obnoxious.” She is not sure why she can’t stop rolling her eyes at Ron this morning, but he frowns in good natured grumpiness at her while Harry barks out a laugh.

She glances back over at Pansy and thinks about Ron’s comments again. Surely, Pansy is quite pretty, but still acerbic and haughty, very much pure-blooded to the core. Could Ron have been serious about having an attraction to her? She frowns again, remembering her own brief dalliance with Ron the previous summer, and wonders if she is feeling some sort of jealousy - or worse, if Ron is talking about other girls in such a way as an attempt to make her jealous. 

Pansy rests a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, pointedly ignoring the group of Gryffindors.

Her thoughts wander to the question of whether Malfoy and Pansy are dating now - she remembers hearing that they had been an item at some point, at least briefly, in previous years - and is debating if she wants to go through the effort of asking Lavender for updates of who is dating who these days, when finally Headmaster Dumbledore walks in to the auditorium, flanked by the heads of houses, Professors McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape.

The class quiets down as Dumbledore whirls to the front of the room and turns, with a gentle smile on his face. Watching him for a moment, she thinks that he looks...well, old. War spares no one, and it is certainly taking its toll on the Headmaster.

“The capstone project. A pinnacle of achievement, indeed. Every year our seventh year students put forth a valiant effort, and every year the wizarding world is made better for it.”

The Headmaster has been spending less and less time as Hogwarts, and more and more time on mysterious errands. Governing the school has largely fallen to the Deputy Headmistress, and even she is looking more run down than ever before. Hermione is fairly committed to resolving whatever issues that arise throughout the year without bothering the professors, if possible.

“Remember, young students, let us focus not on what divides us, but what brings us together. And on sherbet lemons, of course.”

The room chortles politely, if not entirely on board with either message.

“But alas, I’m sure you’ve heard more than enough speeches from me over the years.” He taps his wand gently on the podium, and parchment papers appear in front of every student. “Do please have a look, then, and find your partners for the year. Remember indeed that four together are stronger than four apart.”

She hears the shuffling of paper as the students grab the pages in front of them with their team members for the duration of the year. Gasps and sighs of varying degrees of happiness echo through the room. For a moment, as she is turning her paper over she thinks she catches Dumbledore’s eye, a slight glimmer rippling beneath his spectacles.

She glances at her paper.

Michael Corner (she meant what she said to Ron earlier when she called him smart - not bad to have for a teammate), Hannah Abbott (nice enough, and likely won’t shirk on the required work) and - Draco Malfoy.

The founder of Dumbledore’s Army, two members, and the son of an infamous Death Eater. Lovely.

She looks back over to where Pansy and Malfoy were sitting earlier, while he looks over at her at the same time. She holds his gaze for a moment and regards him thoughtfully. He is a bit of a wild card - certainly he is quite intelligent; she has seen that his marks generally trend towards the top of the class. She has noticed that his face has grown more sullen and quiet since his father’s arrest. He is less of the Slytherin Troublemaking Ring Leader these days, more often alone rather than flanked by his fellow bullies Crabbe and Goyle.

Of course, sullen or not, he still regularly manages to spare the time for a bit of insulting banter with his favorite local muggle born witch - and she has meticulously catalogued every negative memory associated with him over the years (first boy to ever call her a Mudblood, first boy she ever slapped in the face, first boy whose father tried to kill her and her friends, he made fun of her hair as recently as yesterday, etc). She has prepared a rather extensive list of ferret-themed insults that she is now sure to exhaust early on in the year.

Bored expression on his face, he inclines his head slightly at her, smirking lazily before looking away.

She sighs and looks around the rest of the room. Michael is already tilting his head and beaming enthusiastically at her when she locates him to her left, to which she politely smiles back. Hannah is glancing around nervously, but smiles brightly at her as well.

Well, three out of four participants in the group should be fine at any rate.

Meanwhile, Ron is groaning next to her. “Crabbe, Bones, and Brocklehurst,” he whines. 

“MacMillon, Padma Patil, and, ah, Parkinson,” shrugs Harry with a slight blush.

“You lucky git,” complains Ron with a laugh before glancing at Hermione’s paper. “Ouch - you got Malfoy huh? And that toothless moron Corner. Honestly, hear me out on this - Malfoy is Death Eater garbage, but sometimes I think Corner might even be worse!” he laughs again.

“Well, firstly, Malfoy is not a Death Eater. Secondly, I already said that Michael would make for a fine teammate,” she replies, a grin slowly forming. “And at any rate, they both have very nice hair. I’m sure we can at least agree that my team is certainly the best looking of the bunch.”

Ron gapes at her for a moment in despair, but soon enough is staring wistfully in Pansy Parkinson’s direction and loudly bemoaning his awful luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I was doing a little bit of quarantine cleaning and discovered a raggedy journal from around FIFTEEN YEARS AGO with an outline for this story. I'm trying to do my younger self justice, and it has been a blast to write. It takes place in a post-OOTP world where Draco has been sitting around tugging on Hermione's metaphorical pigtails. The story is mostly written already, will be around 30ish chapters, and updated regularly.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except a completely busted composite notebook


	2. Chapter 2

First week checklist:

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble over the first week of school: in progress  
-Spring reading: in progress  
-Find out who THE MONSTER pranking her (by casting some sort of hex to make her hair even frizzier and rigid than usual - untamable by even Lavender and Pavarti’s most inventive ideas, and impossible to even scrunch into a braid or ponytail) is and make them suffer for one thousand years: in progress  
-a brave first-year on a dare, perhaps?  
-a prefect who is grumpy about their patrol schedule?  
-Malfoy, of course, is always on the list of ‘people likely to annoy her’?  
-Find a method of countering the crazy-hair curse: in progress  
-Research that strange symbol from the feast: no progress, postponed  
-Start capstone project (or at least _finally_ get the group to decide on a time to meet): in progress  


It was not necessarily the most productive week according to her to-do list, but nonetheless she decides to consider it successful (hair-related misery notwithstanding). The prefects have already stopped complaining about patrols and detention schedules. Blaise has proven to be highly organized, and his system of rotating the worst shifts seems to be quite fair. He slots the two of them for only one awful Saturday night shift in the first half of the year, winkingly making a promise to bribe a couple fifth-years to take it over.

Classes have progressed along the lines she expected. Advanced arithmancy of course has already kept her delightfully busy. Convincing her teammates to start a year-long project in the first week of school had proved to be slightly more challenging.

Arithmancy class with Malfoy and Michael: Malfoy slipped out of arithmancy before she could corner him, while Michael genially agreed to meet whenever it was convenient. Well, except for Tuesday and Thursday and Friday and please not on the weekend if possible.

Herbology with Hannah: Hannah smiled politely and of course was happy to start right away - except maybe not during the week, how about Saturday afternoon?

Mid-week prefect meeting: victory! She authoritatively told Malfoy and Michael to stay after the meeting and got them both to begrudgingly agree to meet in the library on Saturday afternoon with only one snide remark from Malfoy about her bookwormishness.

Post mid-week prefect meeting: the indecent assault on her hair began and she was sufficiently distracted.

She kicks off her Saturday morning routine in a decent enough mood, relatively speaking. Journal, read, stretch, shower, desperately attempt to wrangle hair, gaze tragically in the mirror and almost cry about how the water seemed to make her hair  _ worse _ , dress, go for a walk around the Great Lake, breakfast, go to the bathroom to have an almost complete breakdown about her hair, and finally park in the library with many cups of tea (well, technically one mug, but with a rather clever use of an extension charm) where she intends to remain for several hours.

She passes the time preparing her notes for the capstone meeting and making some significant progress on her spring reading. Thankfully, the library tends to be abandoned at the best of times, let alone the first Saturday of the year.

A couple Ravenclaw first years who she remembers from the express come in and ogle her from a distance (“That’s  _ her! _ She’s Harry Potter’s girlfriend, isn’t that what they say?” “You dolt - she’s the Head Girl! What’s wrong with her hair do you think?”).

At one point Harry, Ron and Ginny (already worn out from making fun of her hair so much over the last couple days) pop in to complain about the quidditch pitch reservation schedule, which she happily tunes out while withstanding withering glares from Madam Pince.

The Head Boy comes up to her some time later looking for her signature on the rounds paperwork, and to ask for her advice about dealing with Lavender Brown, his Gryffindor capstone companion (“You’re sure to be kept up to date on which of our classmates are secretly shagging,” she advises). His uneasy glances at her hair cause her to shift uncomfortably in her seat. 

And finally, the capstone meeting time arrives. Michael shows up five minutes early, taking the seat across from her and making polite small talk while clearly trying to not gape at the tangled monstrosity on her head. She can feel a faint blush forming on her cheeks. Hannah arrives exactly on time and sits next to Michael, acting much the same, if a bit more shy.

She glances at her watch. It is five minutes after the hour when Malfoy finally saunters up to the table and slumps into the open chair next to her.

“Nice of you to show up,” she doesn’t quite snap, but the tight smile she plasters on her face is clearly exasperated.  _ (That should show him! One withering smile from me and he’ll never be late again!) _

Malfoy turns to level her with a stare, but as his mouth opens he freezes and gapes unflinchingly at her hair.

She wants to immediately run back to the bathroom and chop her hair clean off.

“Granger-” he starts, and she knows it must be even worse than she initially thought because he can hardly even muster up a casual insult. “What-” he laughs and gestures to her head. “This isn’t fair, you’re making it almost too easy for me.”

She fumes and glares at him. Based on his surprised reaction and complete lack of taking credit for her state, she decides to tentatively cross him off of her ‘pranker suspect’ list. He would surely be bragging about it, no?  _ "Anyway. _ I thought we could start by coming up with a few ideas and see if anything sounds promising to the group. Any thoughts?”

Michael and Hannah start to nod, while Malfoy continues to chuckle and raises an eyebrow. “Hair Care for Mudbloods, perhaps?”

While Michael and Hannah jolt at the slur, Hermione - annoyed, but used to his jabs throughout the years - smiles sweetly. “I’d be loath to take hair care advice from someone who spends ten galleons per haircut only to end up with...that,” she gestures generally to his (frankly, very well groomed) head as though something is awry.

He looks a tad concerned and runs a hand through his hair, attempting to be casual. “Someone who has naturally perfect hair, I know. But why don’t you just tell us what you want to do, Granger? I’m sure you have a hundred ideas under that rat’s nest of yours. Pick the one most likely to get us a good enough grade to graduate.”

She frowns at him, moving not only beyond her hair concerns for a moment, but also the fact that it sounds like he is confident she has good ideas for the project. Which she does, of course. “Good enough to graduate? You do realize that if we do well enough on this project it can translate into job opportunities after graduation? Grants, even?”

Michael nodded enthusiastically and chimed in. “Penelope Clearwater did a report on aurology and transfiguring auras, and she got offered a job straight away with the Department of Mysteries. Robert Hiliard too - his group extensively researched magical law, and got recruited to work at the Millicent Bagnold Foundation!”

Malfoy raises a bored eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I’d just like to graduate on time, thank you. I’m in no rush to run off and work for some cooky old bat.”

“She’s the former Minister of Magic!” gapes Michael, clearly annoyed. “I’m sure you know - she’s the one who prosecuted all those  _ Death Eaters _ after the war.”

Malfoy stares at Michael indifferently for a moment before shrugging and leaning back in his chair.

“Besides,” Michael continues, sensing an edge. “It’s not like we all have shady family fortunes to fall back on.”

Malfoy smirks, but his eyes are hard and he doesn’t reply.

Hermione sighs, wondering for a moment if her own vault was equivalent to that of the Malfoy's, how eager for a job immediately after graduation she would be. The idea of taking time after graduation to travel the world has always been appealing, but of course, there are other priorities.

She has a slight concern about the ability of the boys to work together on the project, but is quite pleased to see Michael standing his own against Malfoy. “In any case, I have a few ideas. I’m recommending that we choose a hybrid study approach - as in, rather than delving deeply into one subject, we can pick a topic that aligns to two or three. For example, under muggle studies and potions, we could-”

“Pass,” interrupts Malfoy languidly.

“You-” she stares at him coldly. “Pass? Really? You don’t even know what the idea is. You’re passing just because it has the word muggle in it?”

“Yep,” he grins, surely knowing he is needling her.

Michael and Hannah shift uncomfortably in their seats.

“It might do you some good to learn a little more about muggles,” she snaps. “But one idea I’m excited about falls under the history of magic and arithmancy - and ancient runes, of course. We would be categorizing and stereotyping alumni from the four houses based on a number of metrics. Using those arithmentical data points, we could potentially create a formula to extrapolate-”

“Boring,” interrupts Malfoy again.

“I’d like to hear a little more about that one,” offered Michael with a slight smile.

“Me too,” agreed Hannah quietly, looking slightly overwhelmed and a little scared of Malfoy.

“I thought you didn’t care what the subject is, Malfoy?”

“I don’t, Granger, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend the entire year not only giving you unheeded fashion advice, but also being incredibly bored. What other brilliant ideas do you have?”

“Well,” she turns to face him with a bright smile. “My next idea involves the care of magical creatures, subcategory of house elves, with an added psychological aspect. Why  _ do  _ they hurt themselves? It would require some  _ intensive _ interviews with the Hogwarts kitchen staff and-”

“Ugh,” he groans, dramatically covering his ears with his hands. “Merlin’s saggy tits, you win, please stop talking. The second one about boring extrapolation and whatnot.”

She smiles. “Extrapolating a prediction model that will be vastly superior to tea leaf nonsense. But - I’m open to other ideas, of course.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Of course you are. So what, you want to  _ kill _ divination?”

_ Yes! _

“Of course not! Arithmancy has a divination component to it, after all.”

The rest of the meeting goes more or less smoothly - she explains the concept in some more details and everyone agrees on the subject and the overall approach, while  _ very  _ much agreeing that Professor Vector would be preferable as a faculty advisor than Professor Binns. Even Malfoy grimly nods at that one. Michael already has some thoughts on arithmancy topics to research, while Hannah tentatively suggests that maybe she could in fact apply some higher level divination concepts once they have some data points (to which Hermione forces a pained smile and nod in grumpy agreement).

Malfoy shrugs his way through most of the discussion.

They agree to meet at the same time on Saturdays, and Hannah agrees to come by after their arithmancy class to have a discussion with Professor Vector.

After the group disperses (with only one parting shot about her hair from Malfoy), she jots down some initial thoughts in her journal. The project idea was definitely her favorite of the subjects she came up with. In fact, she had the house elves concept as a back-up plan specifically to annoy Malfoy if needed - which, needed it had been.

Michael and Hanna seem like they will be decent enough partners. Michael is a little more shrewd than she had expected, and Hannah is, well, maybe a little bit of a pushover, but very sweet. Malfoy on the other hand-

She frowns.

Malfoy is a complication.

She spends the rest of the day furiously researching hair related curses and their counters.


	3. Chapter 3

Week two checklist:

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble over the second week of school: still in progress  
-Spring reading: complete  
-Continue to hunt down the evil prankster: in progress  
-Find a method of countering the crazy-hair curse: no progress whatsoever  
-Research that strange symbol from the feast: ongoing  
-the symbol has begun to appear magically graffitied onto various walls throughout the castle; easy enough to remove, lower priority than the hair investigation, but no significant progress as of yet; Blaise laughingly points out that the only sufferer is Filch, forced to ensure the hallways get cleaned up  
-Capstone project review with Professor Vector: pending  


“We seriously need to do something about your hair at this point, Hermione,” laughs Ginny as she walks Hermione down the hall towards the arithmancy classroom. “Nothing has worked so far? Really? Are there any muggle tactics we can try, like hacking it off?”

She shrugs, exasperated. Her hair seems to have become sentient over the last few days, and every time she thinks about it it rebels further against her. Could it really have been a first-year responsible? She fairly doubts it, as it has proven to be a rather complex hex, and quite difficult to counter.

“It  _ must _ be dark magic, yeah? The only positive thing to come out of this is that whenever I imagine murdering the person responsible, it makes me smile for a moment. It’s not very Gryffindor of me is it? Rather vain and mean-spirited.”

Ginny laughs. “Godric himself would grant you an exception if he saw you, I’m sure. I sat next to a first year named Jenny at breakfast who said she heard some Ravenclaw first year is suffering the same fate as you - maybe it’s not personal and we have a regular Fred and/or George running around the school causing mischief.”

She shrugs half-heartedly, thinking it certainly has  _ felt _ personal all week, what with all the time she has spent crying in the bathroom, and telling herself that crying in the bathroom is stupid and she needs to stop. “Maybe.”

“Well, at least that Ravenclaw first year doesn’t have to deal with Malfoy of all people on a regular basis! How has that been going?”

She shrugs again. “Not great, but better than expected so far. I don’t think he’s the one responsible for this disaster, which is better than expected to be sure.”

“Well, let me know if he says anything mean. I’m happy to break out the old Bat-Bogey Hex if needed!”

“You’re a good friend, thanks for that,” she grins.

“Corner’s on your team too, yeah?” asks Ginny hesitantly.

“Yes,” she grins again and watches her friend closely.

“Ah,” Ginny replies, with ever the slightest blush.

“You know he’s in arithmancy with me this period, yes? Want me to pass him a love note from you, hmm?”

“NO!” Ginny gasps. “No, it’s not like that - sure, we dated a little, but I don’t - I mean - I think he’s still dating Cho?”

“Not anymore, if Lavender is to be believed. Shall I inquire? Looking to make Harry a little jealous?”

_ "No," _ Ginny stresses again. “Please don’t - I was just curious, really. Michael’s a nice enough bloke, and quite smart. Nice hair too, since we need to cancel out whatever is going on with yours. In fact, I was about to suggest that  _ you _ date him to make my idiot brother jealous!”

At this Hermione forces out a laugh and inwardly cringes. The Weasley family has always seemed more invested in her relationship with Ron than either of them ever has, but she is happy to let Ginny avoid the Harry topic for now. “You know I only have time for one man in my life these days - he’s intelligent enough with very lovely hair, if a little moody.”

Ginny laughs again. “I know that you’re talking about Crooks, but that could just as easily be Malfoy. He might be an even better choice to make Ronald fitfully jealous! Oh, can you imagine?”

She genuinely giggles as Ginny plans out her imaginary first date with Malfoy (“Take him to  _ Muggle _ London and watch how uncomfortable he gets. Or just walk around the school holding hands and watch him glower at everybody, that would be entertaining - oh my, you would have to visit Malfoy Manor to request permission from his father to woo him! I assume there would be some sort of blood contract?”). 

Ginny continues on joyfully in this manner (“Who would object first at the wedding? You? Me? Ron or Pansy? My mother? Or  _ his mother _ ??” “I imagine Lucius would violate his house arrest and murder me at the altar. Can you imagine  _ this hair _ sullying the Malfoy line? How offensive!” she plays along) until they approach the arithmancy classroom and she is a little surprised to see the object of their conversation show up to class early for once. He looks up at them with a frown, and Ginny leans in and whispers, “See? That’s the  _ glower _ I was talking about!”

She looks up at him and his frown deepens into a scowl - quite a glower indeed! - and she and Ginny have a brief fit of the giggles until he rolls his eyes and walks into the classroom in a huff.

Ginny gasps, “Oh the ideas I’m getting for your wedding invitations - something about dragons, and of course you can have all your guests solve arithmancy equations to figure out their seating arrangements! Death Eaters in one section, aurors in another, it will be so  _ scandalous _ .”

She laughs again and shoves Ginny away before following Malfoy into the classroom in a far better mood than her hair should warrant. She decides to proactively sit next to him - thinking specifically about a couple capstone notes she has for him, but more importantly, because she thinks it might annoy him just a little bit. When his scowl deepens as she sits down, her grin widens and she positively cannot wait to tell Ginny how successful this new strategy may prove to be.

“Were you and the girl Weasel hitting the Gigglewater this morning?” he snaps.

“No, we usually wait at least until after the first period to start with that. We just saw something rather amusing this morning, that’s all.”

She can see him clench his jaw and is surprised to note that despite how quick he always is to insult her, she has never realized how much he genuinely  _ hates _ getting made fun of. Laughing at him with Ginny for half a minute, and his rage is fairly palpable. Making a mental note to time travel back to first year and inform her younger self of this fact, she smiles sweetly and passes a paper to him. “Some notes to ask Professor Vector after class,” she explains.

He glances at it and grunts noncommittally before turning his gaze directly on her, expression schooled in his typical bored indifference. “I actually have something for you too,” he mumbles hesitatingly.

She blinks. “Oh? About the project?”

“Absolutely not. This is more about the fact that I am absolutely appalled by your rat’s nest of a hairdo, and we’ll be spending enough time together this year that I decided to do something about it. To avoid having to  _ see _ it,” his lip curls in disgust and he passes an ointment jar over to her.

She looks down curiously at the jar, opening it and giving it a cautious sniff. She detects at the minimum a hint of billywig sting, and turns back to Malfoy with a suspicious eyebrow. “This will help, really? Or will I wake up tomorrow with blue hair?”

He shrugs. “Obviously I’d pick green, were that the case. But no, I’m afraid you’ll just have to settle for having hair that isn’t making a desperate bid to escape from your head.”

She frowns again. If he was unsettled by her poking fun at him, then she was twice as unsettled by the fact that he did something...nice?

He rolls his eyes at her dubious expression. “I always thought you Gryffindor lot are supposed to be full of trust, yet you seem awfully suspicious.”

“Hm, no, we’re the brave and daring ones. ‘Full of trust’ sounds rather Hufflepuffy, no?”

“Look Granger, it’s simple - your hair disgusts me, and I’m stuck having to look at you all week long. I heard about some Ravenclaw girl getting hexed and did my prefectly duties by hunting down the young idiots responsible. They told me what they did, and it was easy enough to create a remedy from there. Be brave and daring, you Gryffindor dolt.”

She stares at him, deep suspicion rising as their classmates start to filter into the classroom. “Prefectly duties, sure. What hex was it? And may I ask who the culprits are? I promised one thousand years worth of suffering to them, you know. Minimum.”

He smirks slightly. “Have you looked in a mirror? One thousand years is nowhere  _ near _ enough. I’m afraid that I am sworn to secrecy on the matter, however. Deepest apologies, Head Girl.”

“Sworn to secrecy! I assume you’re protecting some Slytherin or another from my wrath?”

“Well, yes, while your wrath is indeed terrifying,” his smirk widens. “Do remember, Granger, next time you want to pester me about babysitting third year detentions or some such nonsense, that I now know the hex and will be more than happy to risk the thousand year punishment.”

‘Prefect annoyed at their schedule’ had certainly been on her list of potential pranksters, but honestly!

“You really ought to tell me, you know. If some other poor soul gets their hair hexed, all their suffering will be entirely your fault.”

_ "Sworn to secrecy, _ Granger. Honor is important - isn’t that what the headmaster is always babbling about? That, and something about metaphorical socks?”

“You are ridiculous,” she huffs, glancing up at Michael as he walks in and sits to her left.

“Hey, Hermione. All right?” Michael tilts his head and asks cautiously, with a suspicious look directed towards Malfoy.

“Michael,” she greets, still leveling Malfoy with a glare. “Just having a debate about ethics, that’s all.”

“Ethics,” agrees Malfoy with a nod. “And I must say, Granger - I’m ethically disappointed in you. Here I’ve been  _ so _ helpful, ethically, and have yet to receive a single ethical ‘thank you’ from you.”

She didn’t think her eyes could possibly narrow further, but she proves herself wrong.

Michael blinks at them.

Class proceeds smoothly with no further snark nor ethical commentary. Afterwards, Hannah meets the group and they approach Professor Vector to present their capstone idea. She enthusiastically agrees to advise them, and they plan to meet after class on Wednesdays to review progress. She recommends a few arithmancy topics to research (‘The Rule of Seven is on the curriculum for later in the year, but of course Hermione has already read that section), politely sniffs at Hannah’s divination recommendation, and suggests a few books to read to help get started. The historical references will be easy enough to compile, but she additionally suggests in-person interviews of more modern, less famous subjects will be beneficial to start. Malfoy looks a little put out at the idea of talking to  _ strangers _ , but doesn’t object out loud.

Malfoy practically sprints out of the room when the meeting is concluded (too much socializing for one day, perhaps), so she enjoys a leisurely stroll to the Great Hall with Michael and Hannah. 

“My favorite divination topic is oneiromancy,” Hannah enthuses with a nervous blush on the way. “It’s the study of dreams - symbols and - ah, you know that already, of course. Maybe, um, we can include a question about that for the interviews?”

Hermione has a quick internal debate about whether she is more charmed by Hannah’s bashfulness than she is infuriated by divination sullying her project, and decides to force her lips into a smile and nod, “Mmm, maybe.”

Michael catches her eye and echoes her sentiments with an exaggerated grimace.


	4. Chapter 4

Her list has at least one significant positive to celebrate this week.

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Fix hair disaster: complete! Thus far, there have been no side effects from Malfoy’s ointment  
-Thank Malfoy for the ointment: not started  
-Research that strange symbol from the feast: ongoing  
-it’s not appearing in any ancient runes books as of yet; need to search for a more advanced text in the library  
-Refine Capstone project interview list: pending, due to Malfoy being purposely difficult  
-Create a list of student activities to promote inter-house unity: in progress  


“How do you manage to drink so much tea?” Harry gapes at her as they sit together in the library.

The library is fairly deserted at this time of day, save for some sniggering first years likely up to no good and unprepared for Madam Pince’s ire.

“Extendable charm on the mug,” she answers absent-mindedly, gesturing to her mug while she sorts through her arithmancy notes. Sitting in the library all day on Saturday has become her unofficial office hours - Harry usually comes by to chat once or twice, occasionally with a Weasley or two in tow; Blaise has a standing appointment to discuss Head matters; various prefects will come to complain about their rounds schedules; intimidated first-years ogle her from a distance. It is a fairly comfortable routine, broken up only by the afternoon capstone group meeting and trying to maintain her temper (between Hannah’s divination obsession and Malfoy’s general existence, it can be quite trying).

“Not really what I meant,” laughs Harry. “Not sure how you manage to get any studying done if you have to run to the loo every five minutes.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thank you  _ so _ much for your concern, Harry.”

He grins. “That’s what friends are for. What’s all this, still looking into the eye?”

She frowns at that. “The eye?”

“Yeah - that’s what they’re calling it. That symbol that’s been showing up everywhere. It, kind of looks like an eye, yeah?”

She shrugs. “I suppose it does, somewhat. At any rate, I’m still researching - no luck yet. And this,” she gestures to the papers in front of her. “Is for the capstone.”

He leans in a little closer to look at her notes. “Your project’s going to be about arithmancy? Let me guess - is the entire purpose of your project to completely murder divination as a subject?”

“Pretty much. But, do be careful about what you ask, Harry - I’m more than happy to explain the project in  _ great _ detail to you, if you have a few hours.”

“Eh, good point. How’s the group working out? I can’t imagine that dealing with Malfoy is fun. And, ah, Corner, of course, is - well, yeah.”

She suppresses a smile. Michael, of course, had not only dated Ginny, but Cho Chang as well. Despite very rarely interacting personally, he and Harry turned out to be quite the romantic rivals. 

“Malfoy continues to be Malfoy, but the last six years have trained me well for this - it’s rather like my own personal capstone project, isn’t it? I can handle him. As for Michael - it’s funny actually, Ginny recently mentioned that he has nice hair and that I should date him. You know, if I get bored of old Crooks.”

Never an expert at masking his emotions, Harry’s face scrunches up at the mention of Ginny, but he looks somewhat relieved at hearing that she isn’t hung up on Michael at this point. “Well, he’s an alright bloke I guess, but Crookshanks will be more protective of you I bet.”

“Quite so,” she smiles. “How’s your team working out? If dealing with Parkinson has been anything like Malfoy, then you have my sympathy.”

“Slytherins, you know how they are,” he laughs without much commentary, but she notices a slight blush creep onto his face.

She stares at him for a moment, saying nothing, and his blush intensifies under her gaze. Her eyes widen. “Oh, Harry, oh no.”

“What?” he protests innocently.

“Please tell me that Ron going on and on about her tits hasn’t gotten to you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he insists.

“Look at you, blushing like a schoolgirl - you have a crush on Pansy Parkinson, don’t you!” She feels a twinge of sympathy for Ginny and lets out a disbelieving laugh. 

“NO,” he gasps. “I certainly do not!”

“You’d better ask her out quickly - if anyone finds out you like her, Corner will probably ask her out first.”

“Ah, do please shut up.”

She glances up to see Ron walking into the library and hurrying over to them. She is a little surprised to see him awake and in the library so early on a Saturday, so she assumes he has something more important than quidditch to discuss. She doesn’t want to lose her opportunity to tease Harry, however, so she smiles at him and concludes, “Very well - but you could certainly do worse. She may be a shrew, but I’m told she  _ does _ have nice tits.”

Harry smiles weakly, drops his head into his hands and groans. “I really do dislike you sometimes, you know.”

“Love you too,” she winks, blowing him a kiss.

Ron walks up to the table looking flushed and drops into a chair in a heap. “Look,” he drops a letter on the table. “I- well, this is important, but don’t think I didn’t hear that bit about the tits, we can circle back to that later.”

“What’s going on?” asks Harry, face still colored slightly.

Hermione takes the letter and scans it quickly. “The twins’ shop was vandalized!” she gasps. “Was anyone hurt??”

Ron nods quickly. “It happened last night - luckily nobody was inside, but there was quite a lot of damage.”

Harry frowns. “Do they know who did it? Or why?”

Ron shakes his head.

“How awful,” she sighs. “At least no one was hurt. And - there were no, ah, obvious clues or anything?”

“No Dark Marks in the sky, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She glances at Harry, their earlier frivolity forgotten. He shifts in his seat and raises a hand to rub at his forehead, clearly disturbed.

The return of Lord Voldemort has been a fairly taboo topic amongst wizarding society. There is certainly a war being waged, but it has been largely kept to the shadows. The Order of the Phoenix and select aurors have skirmished with groups of Death Eaters, but never out in the open. It has been quiet enough that most witches and wizards are happy to pretend that nothing is going on.

However, the number of acts of violence towards muggle-borns have increased. Pure-bloods known to be friendly to muggles have suffered similarly. She knows that Harry is quick to assume every attack is related and personal.

“Harry...we don’t know that this was the Death Eaters. It may have just been vandals,” she suggests cautiously.

“It wasn’t just vandals,” Harry snaps. “You know it wasn’t, Hermione.”

She cringes, but knows that he always has and always will feel deeply guilty when someone he loves is under attack. “Well - I’m sure the Order will-”

She cuts herself off as Blaise Zabini walks up to the group, more nervous than she has ever seen him. “Hermione,” he greets quickly and glances around at the group. “You need to come with me, quickly. There’s been an incident.” He looks at the boys. “You lot may as well come too.”

The trio glance at each other worriedly, but stand up and hustle after Blaise.

“Alright - not the time, but I need you to know that I’m not forgetting about the tits thing,” whispers Ron along the way to a fairly abandoned section of the seventh floor corridor, somewhat near the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione is breathing fairly heavily after trying to keep up with the long-legged quidditch players running up the stairs, but she tries to calm herself and appear professional as they approach a small gaggle of students staring at the wall - mostly shocked young Griffindors, due to the common room being nearby, but she notes a few familiar looking Ravenclaws and a couple smug looking second year Slytherins (whose faces she makes a point of memorizing).

Professor McGonagall motions her over, and the three of them shove ahead with Blaise.

There, on the wall - a Dark Mark, clear as day, graffitied onto the wall. She feels her heart start to thud in her chest - a Dark Mark, here, at Hogwarts - impossible! Not shot up into the air, but magically etched into the walls. Could a student have done this?

The snake slithers slowly through the mouth hole of the skull, but she gasps as she notices something is different.

It’s the  _ eyes _ of the Dark Mark that are different. They normally glow with a bright green, but here - they’re a deep, dark blue with two triangles surrounding a circle. It’s that same symbol she has been unable to find any information about. It’s  _ the eye _ .

“What-” she gasps in awe, a million questions running through her head. The Dark Mark could be  _ altered _ ?! How? And  _ why _ ?

Harry and Ron are similarly stunned.

“Professor McGonagall, who -  _ what  _ happened? Were there any witnesses? Did the portraits see anything?”

Professor McGonagall shakes her head uneasily. “No, Miss Granger, I’m afraid not. Please, if you and Mr. Zabini can direct the students back to their common rooms and institute a school-wide lockdown. Mr. Weasley - go to the Headmaster’s office and inform him of this development. Mr. Potter - I’ll ask you to remain here until the headmaster arrives.”

Ron nods, spinning on his heel and sprinting down the corridor.

She locks eyes with Blaise, who looks stunned, but tries to gather himself. She briefly recalls that his family has never been associated with Death Eaters and that lot, so a Dark Mark is surely no source of comfort for him.

No stranger to a crisis, she encourages Blaise to organize the small group of children while she casts the spell which sounds the alarm for all students to return to their common rooms. She simultaneously tries to eavesdrop on Harry’s unhelpful conversation with Professor McGonagall.

“Professor - that eye, it’s the same symbol that’s been appearing all over the school. Do you know what it is?”

“I do not. Let’s wait for the headmaster, Mr. Potter, if you please.”

She watches the group of students run around in a panic, trying to race back to their common rooms, and not for the first time she notes that something is  _ different _ this year. She cannot quite figure it out. It’s in the way the students are interacting with each other. In previous years, there was always a friendly rivalry amongst the four houses, but this year - everything is more tense, and there are undercurrents of darkness. She can  _ feel _ it. Something is going on - clearly related to the shadow war being fought outside the castle walls - but she doesn’t know what.

Yet.

She mentally starts to make an exhaustingly long list of library books to check out.


	5. Chapter 5

Her checklist gets simultaneously more productive, but also more depressing.

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, forever, always, even when they’re being gits  
-Research that strange symbol: ongoing  
-Side note: take an art class; the ‘eye’ is more nuanced than a couple badly drawn triangles and a circle <|0|>  
-Refine Capstone project interview list: in progress, first wave complete  
-They identified four potential subjects, representing all houses, for the first wave; all recent graduates and acquaintances of the group members  
-She recommended Percy Weasley (largely to annoy Malfoy)  
-Malfoy recommended Marcus Flint (probably to annoy her)  
-Hannah recommended Helen Dawlish (probably because they were friends)  
-Michael recommended Chester Davies (probably because they were friends)  
-Spy on Draco Malfoy: not started  
-Find out who is still pranking her (ectoplasm explosion in her bag - not overly inventive, but quite obnoxious): in progress  
-Start to exercise more after that embarrassing seven flight sprint: not started  
-Oh right, spy on Draco Malfoy: not started  


Her meeting with the capstone team had been postponed to Sunday due to the lockdown. There was no resolution to the Dark Mark incident, only more questions.

That night, Harry and Ron had sat up with her by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, each unable to sleep.

“The eye - it has to  _ mean _ something, doesn’t it? Some new type of Death Eater maybe?” she had mused.

“What would that even be?” Ron had responded. “What could be  _ worse _ than a regular old Death Eater? Do you think this has something to do with the vandalism at the joke store?”

Harry had been sullen. “Look - we all know who the most likely student to be casting Dark Marks is, don’t we?”

She had frowned. “That’s not fair, Harry, and you know it. There’s no evidence-”

“Come off it, Hermione,” Ron had argued. “His father’s a  _ Death Eater _ , and we all know he’s a right evil git.”

The conversation had continued in such a way before concluding with her reluctantly agreeing to use the next capstone team meeting to casually spy on Malfoy, somehow, while she semi-successfully convinced the boys to try to be somewhat open-minded.

She stares down at her notes, thinking that the mood across the group is fairly subdued. She herself focused only on writing down the names of their potential interviewees, while even her banter with Malfoy was half-hearted at best (“Maybe you’ll hit it off. Flint’s mediocre at quidditch and a goofy looking git - exactly your type, Granger”).

“Hermione,” Michael starts hesitantly, tilting his head at her curiously. “Did you see it? The, ah, the Dark Mark? I heard you and Potter were the ones who discovered it.”

“We were not, but yes I did see it.” She glances at Malfoy to gauge his reaction, but his face is as impassive as ever.

Hannah shivers. “A Dark Mark - here. I can hardly believe it. Do you think a  _ Death Eater _ -” she cuts herself off and worriedly glances between Malfoy and Hermione.

Hermione notices Malfoy’s jaw clench, but otherwise he does not react.

“It wasn’t quite a Dark Mark though, right?” Michael follows up enthusiastically. “Shoddy magic, that. It had the Eye of the Eagle!”

“The-” she sputters. “The Eye of the Eagle, really?”

He shrugs. “It’s blue? It sort of looks like an eye? That’s what they’ve started calling it, anyway.”

“I’ve heard that too,” agrees Hannah, eyes still cautiously darting up to gauge Malfoy.

Hermione frowns, very much not wanting to support giving a name and a  _ myth _ to another symbol. “I’d rather stick with just the one scary glyph at this point, thank you.”

“It’s true that the eye stayed though, right? After Dumbledore cast the counter-curse?”

Her frown deepens. It is true that the strange eye - ugh, the Eye of the Eagle - had stayed on the wall after the banishment of the Dark Mark. But this had led to only more questions.

Why were the symbols two separate entities? Was this some new form of Death Eater, or were there two separate groups? Was there some sort of renegade Death Eater running rampant throughout the school, or was there a regular old Death Eater running rampant while some  _ other _ mysterious group was out there, also running rampant? Or was it just a prank in poor taste (perhaps by the same hair-hexing and extoplasm-bag-stuffing monster)?

All the questions and the lack of answers and the severe lack of sleep was giving her quite the migraine.

“I’m afraid the Headmaster asked me not to discuss it, Michael,” she answers smoothly.

Michael smiles, maybe searching for a little humor in the darkness, while glancing between her and Malfoy. “Ah - well, that’s just what I heard. Sounds like the eagle glyph is stronger than any old Slytherin one, yeah?”

Malfoy shifts slightly next to her.

“It’s not-” she sighs and brings a hand to her forehead, as if she can banish her thriving headache back to some abyss in the back of her mind where it belongs. “It’s not a  _ Slytherin  _ symbol. It’s Lord Voldemort’s symbol.”

Michael and Hannah cringe deeply at the name.

Malfoy turns to her and levels her with a gaze, face still masked in indifference and eyes hard. “Is that so, Granger?”

She holds his gaze for a moment and can feel the other two members of the group watching them closely. She tries to read him.

A git? Certainly. A Death Eater? Possibly.

“That  _ is  _ so,” she responds slowly. “Not all Slytherins walk that path.”

He holds her gaze for a moment longer before shrugging nonchalantly and leaning back in his chair.

Unsure what to make of that interaction, she turns back to her notes. “Professor Vector recommended we split the interviews up. Any thoughts?”

The discussion stays away from sensitive topics from there out. As always, at the end of the meeting Malfoy gathers his things and quickly hurries out of the library.

She decides to follow him, if only to be able to tell Harry and Ron that she tried. She tosses her notes in her bag and curses under her breath when she remembers the sodding explosive ectoplasm, but hurries after Malfoy anyway, disregarding the bewildered looks on Michael and Hannah’s faces.

She looks around and sees him strolling casually down the hallway, turning a corner not far ahead of her. She groans, wishing she had Harry’s invisibility cloak at the ready rather than trying her hand at spycraft in a fairly abandoned hallway.

She hurriedly turns the corner and  _ slams _ into Malfoy’s chest. He hardly acknowledges the impact as she practically bounces off of him.

Well, so much for the subtleties of spying.

He looks severely unimpressed and if anything, a little amused. “Well Granger, shall we get this over with?”

“Not sure what you mean, Malfoy,” she sniffs unconvincingly, knowing that he knows exactly what she is up to.

“Your interrogation. Go on, then.” He takes a step closer and she hesitantly takes a step back.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

He takes another step closer and she finds herself backing up into the wall. He glowers down at her and she is keenly aware of their height differential (he really is rather tall, isn’t he? and quite good at glowering). She briefly wonders if it came down to it, would she be able to get her wand out before he glowers her to death?

“Nothing at all? Potter didn’t sic you on me the minute that Dark Mark appeared?”

“Sic me on you- honestly! What, let me guess, like a dog?”

He takes another step forward and there is nowhere left for her to back up, so she stares at him resolutely with a frown. He is rather strong looking, with the lean, lithe build of a quidditch seeker. He leans forward and rests a palm on the wall next to her head.

“Sure - like a  _ bitch _ ,” he gamely spits out the obvious insult, mouth smiling but eyes hard.

She rolls her eyes - height and muscles be damned, she will  _ not _ be intimidated by him. “Very clever. Look, Malfoy - we’ve done this enough times, haven’t we? I can play both of our parts. You’re a ferret-snake. There. Now, please, call me a filthy mudblood and storm off to the dungeons if you don’t mind. I have things to do.”

He smirks, dipping his head closer to her ear, and murmurs, “You’ll have to ask nicely if you want me to call you names, Granger.”

She stares at him blankly.

Was that-

Wait, was that flirting of some sort? Well, maybe he finally realized she has become immune to his usual attacks and is trying out a new approach to make her uncomfortable. Surely he’ll laugh about this with Crabbe and Goyle and that lot later (“And then I had her pressed up against a wall and guess what, she blushed - like a  _ virgin _ ”).

She sighs and absolutely blushes.

Clearly sensing an advantage, the stupid boy smirks ever wider and leans even closer, not quite making physical contact but near enough to it.

She externally shifts uncomfortably and internally debates the merits of slapping him across the face again, just like old times. “Cute. Fine, you win, here’s your interrogation. Did you cast the Dark Mark yesterday?”

He doesn’t bother to even take half a step back. His breath ghosts against her ear. “No, I didn’t.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

She scrutinizes him closely. He looks a little bored, maybe, but she thinks she knows his face well enough after six years to know that he isn’t lying. Probably.

“What’s that stupid Eagle Eye nonsense, do you know?”

He shrugs and looks at her almost suspiciously. “No clue. Yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yet.”

She watches him closely. Is he researching the stupid thing too? Why? What does he know? “Will you tell me who’s pranking me? I now owe them two thousand years of suffering.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “They got you again, really?”

“I’ve had quite a few pages of notes ruined thanks to an ectoplasm explosion in my bag.”

He blinks at her for a moment before smiling slightly. She thinks he looks quite tired. “Sworn to secrecy, remember? But fear not, Granger - my marks depend on you not ruining your notes. I’ll talk to them.”

“Awfully noble of you.”

“Didn’t we agree that I’m excessively honorable? You still haven’t thanked me for solving your hair troubles, you know. Too scared to just say thank you?” 

“Thank you for the ointment,” she snaps with a glare, suddenly a bit distracted by his closeness and the spicy smell of his cologne, and annoyed at herself for thinking about what the stupid boy smells like.

“Good girl. Was that so hard?” He smirks again, offering a mock salute before turning and practically  _ sauntering _ away.

Before she can organize her thoughts and even begin to summon her anger at his arrogance, she glances down the hallway and notices Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil watching her with wide eyes.

She groans, thinking about what it must have looked like, with Malfoy practically holding her hostage against the wall like that, arm against the stone next to her head and leaning in closely. For crying out loud, she could feel his breath tickling her ear.

Lavender nearly sprints away, surely on her way to tell the entire school that she witnessed the Head Girl snogging the infamous Death Eater in the hallway near the library.


	6. Chapter 6

She is beginning to notice a bit of a theme in her ever-expanding lists.

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, forever, always, even when she  _ actually _ has to convince them that she is not carrying on some secret torrid affair with Draco Malfoy  
-Research that stupidly named Eagle Eye: ongoing  
-Conduct first wave of capstone interviews: in progress  
-Spy on Draco Malfoy: on hold  
-Find out who is still pranking her: in progress  
-Start to exercise more after that embarrassing seven flight sprint: in progress  
-Plan the Halloween party: in progress/delegated to Blaise  
-Convince the entire school that she is not shagging Draco Malfoy: in progress  


The points on her list regarding Draco Malfoy make her somewhat uneasy. She can’t help but dwell on it as she goes through her morning routine: journal (about Malfoy), read (is Malfoy really researching the Eye too? does he have any book recommendations?), stretch (maybe she should add some martial arts to her exercise program - there was a brief moment of concern when Malfoy had towered over her; being physically overpowered would make it difficult to perform witchcraft, certainly), shower (her hair remains thankfully within its normal amount of crazy - thanks to Malfoy and his stupid ointment), dress (surely he would have some disparaging comment about her clothes, no?).

Lavender and Parvati silently grin their way through watching her wrangle her hair to a manageable level, and she has rarely felt more murderous.

Ginny, of course, has the biggest shit-eating grin of them all, and greets her chipperly in the common room before breakfast.

It had only taken two days for the castle to have completely forgotten about the scary Dark Mark Eagle Eye and be alight with gossip about her star-crossed romance with Malfoy. Not prepared for the sudden interest in her personal life, she has alternated between blushing and rolling her eyes through the hallways. Occasionally, she even dons a Malfoy-esque glower on her face, much to her own chagrin.

“So tell me,” Ginny grins. “Shall I get started on making those wedding invitations? Oh look at you, you’ll make quite the literal blushing bride!”

“Please stop,” she half-whines.

“Never! So tell me, which of the rumors is true?”

_ "Nothing _ happened, you know that,  _ please _ shut up.”

She has had some time to reflect on the interaction a bit more. He had practically cornered her in the hallway, hadn’t he? He was - just  _ so  _ tall, when had that happened? She begrudgingly allows herself to remember that he had actually smelled quite nice, but that hardly matters. He had very rudely  _ trapped _ her into that conversation and backed her into the wall. She is resolved to never be alone with him ever again if she can help it.

“Bah - you know what they say about him, right? Either that he has some kind of ancient Pureblood kinky incubus sex god possessing him, or he’s a virgin and any witch who beds him before marriage is going to be cursed by the ancient Pureblood guardians of his virtue. And - I mean, you don’t  _ look _ cursed-”

“Please, please, please  _ shut it _ .”

Ginny giggles throughout the morning. “Oh but you should have seen Ron’s face when he heard about it - turned as red as the hair on his head!”

Attempting to convince Harry and Ron that she had only been following  _ their  _ instructions to spy on him had resulted in a couple of rude comments (including this delightful line from a sputtering Ron: “ _ Spy _ on him, Hermione, not  _ whore _ yourself out for Merlin’s sake!” - she had an excellent response prepared about how he was acting like a jealous nitwit, but held her tongue); thus, she was currently refusing to talk to him. Harry too, for refusing to acknowledge her instincts about Malfoy being innocent in the Dark Mark incident.

“Right, yes, poor Ron has to blush while I’m getting shunned for  _ standing in a hallway _ with a boy. They’re  _ my  _ friends, supposedly - why are they mad at  _ me _ instead of threatening to go beat up Malfoy or something?”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Ginny reassures her after noticing her tight expression. “I already promised to be first in line to defend your virtue if required. Malfoy won’t know what hit him...well, until he starts sniffling up bats! And - the boys, they’re being gits and they know it. They’ll sulk back to you this afternoon with their tails between their legs to ask for help with their DADA essays.”

“Well, they’ll just have to wait for that,” she huffs. “I fully intend on ignoring them at least through Halloween. And anyway, I’ll be in London this afternoon for a capstone interview.”

She briefly explains the plan for her and Hannah to take the Hogwarts to Department of Magical Transportation floo link, and connect with Marcus Flint at his flat in London (with Michael having begged off - she had a suspicion that he didn’t much care for Marcus, having been bullied a bit back in the day - but she feels confident that she and Hannah can handle it). She has a half-baked idea to arrange a walk by the Weasley’s joke emporium to see if she can notice anything interesting, but suspects the aurors would have already done a cleanup job.

The morning continues in a similar manner - incredulous stares and whispers from students in her direction. A couple of dubious looking stares from young Ravenclaws. Confused looking Hufflepuffs. Murderous looking Slytherins. Equally murderous and betrayed looking Gryffindors. She feels quite caught in the middle of some undefined thing, and does not like the feeling.

Whenever she catches Malfoy’s eye he has an infuriatingly casual smirk on his smug face and she debates simply walking over and slapping the stupid thing right off his face.

He even  _ waves _ at her once from across the hall, just waggling his fingers in her direction, the cheeky git.

She wishes at least one part of her day could allow a break from Malfoy, and yet she is off to London with Hannah to interview his old quidditch buddy.

She remembers Marcus from when he was a student - mostly for being the Slytherin team quidditch captain, being a bit of a cheater, and failing his NEWT exams the first time around. And, of course, being absolutely supportive of Malfoy calling her a slur back in second year.

She is quite sure Malfoy picked Marcus to interview entirely to irritate her, and she is distressed to realize that it is working.

“Hey Hannah - ready to go?”

Hannah smiles and nods, holding up the permission slips from Professor Vector for the trip, and off they go.

“You know, Hermione,” Hannah starts as they stroll through the streets of Diagon Alley - fairly empty for such an early time of day. “I was thinking a little about the project. I - well, you know I quite like divination theory,” the poor girl colors, clearly a tad embarrassed.

Divination. Great. Better than having an in-depth conversation about her love affair with their capstone project partner, however. 

She forces a light smile on her face, thinking that if Hannah is scared to talk to her about this topic then she might want to lighten up  _ just _ a little bit on divination. For Hannah’s sake. “Oh?”

Hannah nods, face turning a light pink. “Well - I know we’re focusing heavily on the arithmancy for this project, but I’m afraid I don’t have much to add there. We already have the survey question about dreams. I thought I might take a look in some of the old journals to see if the founders noted anything in particular about dreams they might have had. Helga Hufflepuff was a bit of an oneiromancer, you know.”

“Oh,” she replies cautiously, genuinely surprised that such a fact had never been mentioned in Hogwarts: A History. “I hadn’t realized that.”

“It’s true,” smiles Hannah. “She was a healer for some time, see. She was famously a dreamwalker - she could transport herself directly into her patient’s dreams to better analyze the symbols-”

Hermione struggles not to roll her eyes and forces herself to smile instead, as they approach Marcus’s home. Dream walking! She scoffs internally, having never seen any indication of the validity of such a concept.

“Fascinating, truly...well, yes, we should have a robust counterpoint section for the report. Please, of course, look into it - and let me know if you find anything interesting. Dream interpretations are - yes, fascinating.”

Hannah somewhat wilts with happiness in a very Hufflepuff manner, and Hermione is torn between being endeared and annoyed at the extremely cautious approach. She decides that Hannah was certainly properly sorted.

Marcus has quite a nice flat in Diagon Alley. She knows he is a backup chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps and wonders how much he could possibly be getting paid for that minimal role, but per the notes Malfoy compiled, it is more likely that his wealthy pureblooded family supports him somewhat.

Marcus answers the door himself when they arrive and welcomes them with a smile (a snide smile? condescending maybe? certainly not welcoming and pleasant). He is fairly tall and muscular, having grown even more trollish in appearance since she saw him last in third year.

She greets him politely as he leads them into his study. “Good day, Marcus - I’m Hermione Granger, and this is Hannah Abbott. I’m sure Draco Malfoy gave you an introduction about our project?”

Marcus grins toothily and gestures for them to take a seat. “Somewhat - he did mention that you wanted my autograph. Happy to oblige, of course.”

_ That git. _

“Just answers to our survey would suffice, thank you,” she replies tersely.

He leans back in his chair and slowly eyes her up and down in a way that makes her feel somewhat uncomfortable. “I remember you, Granger, of course. Always following Potter around and brawling with old Draco. I heard you’re taking a ride on his broomstick these days, the lucky bastard.”

She blanches and can feel her eyes widen. She is wearing denims and a nice top - nothing scandalous or revealing, but she suddenly wishes to go back to Hogwarts and grab several additional layers to cover herself. And also to hex Malfoy’s privates right off. Hannah shifts uncomfortably next to her.

“I-” she stutters before taking a breath to compose herself. “I think we can skip the catching up bit and start with the questions if you don’t mind.”

The rest of the meeting progresses not quite smoothly, but at least with no more commentary about any annoying blond gits. Her mind is whirling in frustration (honestly, what did Malfoy tell him! and why!). Marcus continues to ogle her in an overtly sexual manner throughout the interview. She crosses her arms across her chest while she is not taking notes.

  
Grades in school: he lies, she has his records  
Career progression: he lies, she has records  
Relationships: he lies, she has records  
Political views: very pureblooded (she has a brief tingling of fear - could he be a Death Eater? A dumb oaf seems exactly the sort, but nothing else occurs that triggers a concern. Still - she notes that she will be much more cautious before interviewing Slytherins in the future)  
Dreams: he outright laughs at them, and she can’t quite disagree with him there  


And so on. All in all, it’s a very Slytherin set of responses, and she feels confident that the project is going to progress exactly on track.

“That’ll do I suppose,” she says, still unsettled but trying to stay composed as she notes his final response. “Thank you for your time. We’d best be off.”

“Oh? No, you should stick around - there’s a little pub down the street, we can all go grab a pint, yeah?”

“No, thank you, we need to get back to school I’m afraid.”

He smirks and  _ leers _ at her on the way out, with a standing offer to contact him if she wants tickets to a Wasps game, and a winking smile about how he will certainly be at Hogwarts with some friends for the Gryffindor vs Slytherin game in a few weeks. He actually  _ touches _ the small of her back to lead her through the doorway.

She stiffens, thanking him again quickly before departing in a hurry, with perhaps a moderate desire to never interact with him ever again if she can help it.

She takes a deep breath when they leave to try and shake away her discomfort.

“All right?” asks Hannah cautiously, forever blushing and embarrassed.

She nods furiously, not wanting to dwell on Marcus Flint and his creepy smile and his creepy eyes and his creepy touching. “I’m fine. That went well enough, I suppose. Do you mind if we take a bit of a walk before going back?”

Her side mission of checking on the Weasley twins comes to the forefront of her mind, with a chance to breathe and sort herself out as a side benefit, and Hannah genially agrees.

As they walk, she can feel Hannah looking over as if she wants to initiate a conversation.

“Um,” Hannah starts, nervous as ever.

Hermione sighs.

“Hermione...about what Marcus said about Draco…”

She presses a hand to her head. “That is all just a misunderstanding. Malfoy and I are  _ not _ involved, and never have been.”

“Right, that’s what I told Lavender when she asked,” Hannah smiles sweetly. “I said if anything, you two argue all the time in our meetings.”

“Ah...right, sorry about that.”

“And besides,” Hannah continues. “We told her - Michael and I, that is - that we didn’t think you seemed the cheating sort.”

She comes to an immediate halt and turns to Hannah with a frown. “Cheating? Who, may I ask, am I being accused of cheating on?”

A thought of Ron vengefully blabbing about their past comes to mind, but - no, he surely wouldn’t have -

Hannah looks concerned. “I - you’re seeing Harry, aren’t you?”

She gasps in surprise. “Harry??  _ No _ , I certainly am not! Where did you hear that?”

“Oh no,” Hannah whispers. “I’m so sorry Hermione - I thought that - well, Michael had heard it from some first or second years I believe. And Harry’s always there in the library with you when I get there, and - oh, I’m sorry, when I heard it, it seemed to make sense, you know? I should have asked - oh my goodness,” she frets dreadfully.

Somewhat shaken, she is unsure who to direct her rage towards, as Hannah’s stressful apology in turn makes  _ her _ want to apologize for agonizing the poor girl.

“ _ Michael _ heard that? What, does the entire school think I’m running about shagging every quidditch seeker that passes me by??”

Hannah moans apologetically. “They said - ah, someone saw you and Harry snogging in the library just last week.”

“Snogging Harry-!!” 

She tries to categorize all of her interactions with Harry from the entire year. Friendly banter, sure. Snogging, certainly not. Flirting, no, aside from perhaps an occasional joke. She vaguely recalls blowing a sarcastic air kiss in his general direction the other day, but if  _ that _ is what the first years think snogging means -

She sighs deeply, and lets out a tired laugh. “You know, Hannah, I’m having quite a lot of imaginary luck in my love life.”

Hannah smiles weakly. “Well - you know, we all thought you and Ron were a cute couple together, but Harry seemed to always be a better -”

“Me and  _ Ronald _ ??” she gasps and Hannah pales once more, looking devastated.

She slaps a head to her forehead again and is immediately concerned about this reputation she has somehow developed for promiscuity, and wonders how it has escaped her attention. Does the entire school think she is some sort of harlot? Is  _ that _ why Malfoy made his little flirting attempt the other day? Going after something  _ easy _ ?

She reflects on her factual (admittedly brief) romantic history. A bit of innocent snogging with Viktor Krum. A bit of  _ slightly  _ less innocent (though still fully clothed) snogging with Cormac McLaggan early on last school year. One adrenaline fueled (still partially clothed) rendez-vous with Ron over the summer, after which she had sworn him to secrecy.

Three very brief romantic interests - and no actual shagging - spread across over three years should hardly qualify her for the  _ promiscuous _ label, she huffs to herself.

Hannah apologetically trails after her as she storms off towards the Weasley’s shop, making a mental list of likely candidates to have helped perpetuate these rumors:

-Lavender Brown: despite maintaining a cordial relationship as roommates, she has occasionally gotten the sense that Lavender is a bit jealous of her, particularly her friendships with Ron and Harry; Lavender was certainly responsible for spreading the bit about Malfoy, but she doubts the girl would have implicated the Gryffindor boys

-Malfoy himself: he has always had fun poking fun of her romantic interests; maybe he wins a bet with his Slytherin pals if he actually shags her? She recalls occasional teenage villains from muggle films perpetuating such a plot, and Malfoy absolutely fits such a role, the git. Either way, if the two of them are associated, he wins and she loses

-Ron: he  _ swore _ he would never tell, not even Harry, but maybe when the boys got a little drunk he felt the need to brag a little? She can imagine how that would go (“Her tits are average,” Seamus the tit-ogler would laugh; “Well, she has some other bits that are  _ above _ average, let me tell you” a bright red drunken git would retort proudly)

-Those random first or second years who told Michael about her snogging Harry: she has noticed a lot of attention from the younger students this year. She had initially attributed it to her status as Head Girl (or, frankly, Harry Potter’s Pal), but now she is far more dubious; she resolves to glare at any first year who sits anywhere near her in the library

-The pranksters: first the hair hex, then the ectoplasm explosion - maybe they’ve advanced to social-life-ruining? She resolves again to righteously yell at Malfoy the next time she sees him, for multiple reasons

-The dark horse in the race - Pansy Parkinson: crushed on by Harry, ogled by Ron, and romantically connected with Malfoy; they have certainly never gotten along - but is it possible she might have thought the Malfoy incident was accurate, and wanted to slander her to keep him all to herself?

“I - maybe, I can ask around, you know? To see if anyone knows where the rumors came from?” Hannah asks tentatively.

“That - would be helpful, thank you Hannah.”

Feeling quite confident that her mental list is already more helpful than anything the Hufflepuffs could scrounge up about local gossip, she leads Hannah into the Weasley’s store. It’s open, thankfully, and the damage doesn’t seem too severe. There are no obvious Dark Marks anywhere - maybe it really was unrelated vandalism? Either that, or the Death Eaters are still too nervous to actually use their calling cards.

“Oi, Hermione!” greets Fred Weasley with a wide grin from across the way. “I’ve a bone to pick with you - I heard a rumor that you’re cheating on my wee baby brother with that Malfoy git!”

She groans and rolls her eyes while Hannah nearly weeps beside her.


	7. Chapter 7

At this point, she is debating the merits of keeping a running activity tracker. ‘Chew out Ronald’ seems a little too easy and not worth recording, but it  _ is _ important to her. ‘Chew out all enemies,’ maybe? It seems she is accumulating quite a number of them these days.

  
-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, forever, always, those gits  
-Research the Eagle Eye: ongoing  
-Conduct first wave of capstone interviews: in progress  
-Start to exercise more: in progress (her most recent casual walk turned into a violently angry sprint)  
-Plan the Halloween party: in progress/converting into a meeting to interrogate Blaise  
-Convince the entire school that she is not shagging Draco Malfoy OR Harry Potter OR Ronald Weasley OR Blaise Zabini OR Michael Corner OR Seamus Finnigan OR any boy who she has stood near since the school year started: in progress  
-Make Draco Malfoy feel even half as uncomfortable as she has been for the last couple weeks: not started  


A week passes, and it is time to put the finishing touches on the plan for the Halloween party. Initially conceived as a small Saturday evening event for the upperclassmen to help relieve some early year NEWT-related stress, it was expanded to include fifth years from all houses to attempt to encourage not only inter-house unity (though they do seem united against their Head Girl these days, she notes), but responsibility as well.

She is quite sure the responsible sorts will leave the party early, while the ne’er-do-wells will continue to ne'er-do-well. Deciding she has bigger fish to fry than a few students getting drunk and rudely bumping into portraits on their way back to their dormitories, she gathers her notes for her next task.

Flipping through the parchment pages, she stares at an unfamiliar sheet for a moment. It only has two words on it: MUDBLOOD WHORE, in capital red letters.

She glances around quickly, not seeing anyone nearby, and she can feel a tear stinging in her eye. These rumors...they were just that - nothing, unimportant, she would  _ not _ cry about them. Certainly, walking through the hallways and hearing murmured whispers from other students calling her a slut has had  _ no _ effect on her whatsoever.

She hopes that by the time the party starts, she can settle back into old habits with Harry and Ron. Both boys were rather perturbed to have been included in the gossip surrounding her (though Ginny, bless her, hasn’t been able to get enough: “Ooh yes, Ron and Harry are going to storm the altar of the Malfoy-Granger nuptials. Riding in on a dragon! Or more probably, dad’s feral old flying car - only to get distracted and duel each other for your affection instead!”).

Though a little uncomfortable with confronting the rumors head-on, she is pleased that at least one person puts no stock in the ‘Harry and Hermione made out in the library stacks’ nonsense, and hopes that Ginny can convince the boys - and the rest of the school - to stop being idiots.

She has quite a day planned out for herself. In their last meeting, she had pointedly ignored Malfoy other than to inquire about the interview with Percy (“It went wonderfully!” blushed Hannah; “Very useful,” enthused Michael; “As boring as expected,” insisted Malfoy). Today, she and Malfoy are taking a trip to interview their Ravenclaw subject, Chester Davies. She decided to give Hannah a break after their fairly unsettling interaction with Marcus Flint, and despite the risk of initiating more rumors, she has some private matters to discuss with Malfoy.

Some very awkward private matters. She decides that in order to prepare for the ordeal of confronting the tall, glowering Slytherin, she should practice on a tall, glowering Slytherin.

She smiles lightly at Blaise as he walks into the library with a confident nod. She wonders briefly what it is about these Slytherin boys that makes them so confident - and  _ tall  _ \- and is hopeful that the capstone project might just yield an arithmancy formula with the answer to that question.

Compared to the others, Blaise is not so bad. He’s a bit proud, sure, but not as big of a whinging git as Malfoy, not as thuggish as Vincent Crabbe or Gregory Goyle, and not as excessively strange and anti-social as Theodore Nott. He is quite intelligent, a very hard worker, and handsome indeed. She, of course, has been romantically linked to him over the course of the last week of ‘Hermione’s Love Life Speculation Extravaganza’, and she can’t help but think that Imaginary Hermione could do far worse than Blaise.

He hands her forms to sign, and she passes her final notes on the orders for the party, and they work quietly for a moment as she builds up her courage.

“Blaise,” she starts hesitantly. “I have a question, and - I apologize, as it’s a little awkward.”

He grimaces as if he has been expecting this.

“There have been some, ah, rumors about me going around the school lately…”

His face is tight. “Oh?”

“Yes - of a rather personal and  _ entirely incorrect _ nature.”

“Mmm,” he responds, shuffling his paperwork in a serious manner.

“Right, well,” she shifts uncomfortably. “I suppose I’d like to ask if you might have heard these rumors, or maybe have an idea about who started them.”

“Hermione…” he frowns deeply. “Look - I don’t think it’s Draco, if that’s what you’re asking. He asked me the same question the other day.”

She frowns at that - investigating on her behalf? Surely there must be some ulterior motive. Maybe he doesn’t want his Slytherin pals thinking he has sullied himself with the local Mudblood?

“Someone has been playing some less than fun pranks on me this year,” she continues slowly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed - a hair-hex here, and an ectoplasm ambush there. At first I’d thought it was some prefect who was mad about their rounds, or some brave little first years acting on a dare. Any thoughts? Maybe I’m connecting some dots that aren’t there, but I’m working on a theory that it’s all the same person.”

“I - er, noticed the hair thing,” he admits, eyes darting up to take in her current appearance. “Haven’t heard about anyone out to get you, I’m afraid. Besides - if it was a prefect, they’d try to come after me too, yeah? I’ve been setting the rounds schedules, at any rate. You’re probably right, it’s likely just some bratty first years. I can get a few of the prefects to investigate if you’re concerned?”

She sighs, knowing that it had been unlikely that Blaise would provide a miracle answer, but disappointed anyway. “Well, I suppose you should be careful about sitting too close to me, Blaise. That’s how  _ rumors _ get started, you know.”

He offers her something like a smile, though it could just as easily be a lip curling in disgust at the expense of her imaginary self’s pride. “I hate to tell you this, but I already heard a rumor about us the other day. Apparently we’ve been going on some very romantic rounds in the night together.”

“I’ve heard,” she groans. “For whatever it’s worth, sorry you got roped into this.”

“Me too,” he sighs, a bit wistfully. “Anyway - if you’re concerned about more rumors spreading, I’d advise you to stay away from the punch at the Halloween party. I’ve heard from a very trustworthy source that the punch might be - are you prepared to believe this? -  _ spiked with alcohol." _

She plays along and fake-gasps. “Teenagers, sneaking alcohol into their boarding school dorms? How positively  _ scandalous _ !”

“Well,” he laughs lightly and stands to leave. “Maybe you  _ should _ have a drink - it would actually help you stop stressing about all this. It’s our last year here, Hermione - nobody’s going to remember a couple little rumors and some silly pranks when you’re the Minister of Magic.”

She rather likes Blaise, sometimes.

Meeting with Chester Davies is a bit more complicated than a simple floo trip to London. He is an auror and stationed quite a ways south of the castle. Permission slips from Professor Vector in tow, she and Malfoy had agreed to meet at the train station.

She is a tad early, and he is a tad late of course. He looks surly and scowls at her as he walks up to wait for the train. She is suddenly a little more dubious about her plan of confronting him - it’s a fairly long train ride to sit in uncomfortable silence, but perhaps an even longer one to sit in  _ angry _ silence.

By the time the train arrives, she notes that he has settled into a more calm demeanor and wonders what is going through his mind. The scowl has gone, leaving a calm mask of indifference in its place. She finds herself hoping that he stays in the ‘indifferent to scowling’ sort of emotional range, rather than ‘experimentally flirty until he finds the threshold that makes her uncomfortable.’

“It should take an hour and a half to get there,” she reminds him.

“I still say we should apparate there, auror policies be damned.”

“Please feel free to do so. I can’t say I’d mind at all if they hex the daylights out of you.”

The train comes to a stop in front of them and to her distress, a slow smile spreads on his face. He bows graciously and gestures to the entryway. “Please, we both know you’d shed a tear for my poor, mangled body. After you, m’lady.”

“Oh for-” she snaps and stomps into the train car.

“Well, that’s no way to thank your beloved,” he grins, entirely too amused with himself. “After ignoring me all week, too. You  _ wound _ me, Granger.”

“How I wish that were so.”

“Well, I suppose you save your thanks for Potter and His Weaselness, eh? You have yourself quite a harem these days, from what I hear. Putting out for every bloke in the school except for me. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky to be able to spend this time with you. What are my odds of a handie before we get there?” His smirk is positively obnoxious.

She glares at him and once again revises her confrontation plan. “Nil. Harry and Ron are rather vexed at me at the moment. Any idea why?”

He raises a smarmy eyebrow at her. “Jealous of me, perhaps?”

“Well, I rather think they should be  _ angry  _ at you, don’t you agree?”

He holds up a hand to stop her and scrunches his eyes shut, saying, “Hold on one moment, Granger.”

She pauses and watches him for a moment, almost bracing herself for some sort of trap. Nothing happens, other than his eyes staying tightly screwed closed.

“ _ What _ are you doing?”

“I’m trying to grow a handlebar mustache. You know, so I can twirl it in a menacing manner whilst you accuse me of evil-doing.”

“Bah,” she scoffs. “So you weren’t the one spreading rumors about me?”

He opens his eyes and shrugs, smirking like a stupid git again. “Why would I bother?”

“Do I really need to answer that?”

“Look, it wasn’t me. I certainly don’t want the school thinking you’re some sort of a harlot. It gives me a better reputation if you’re wholesome and unobtainable, see? With Potter and Weasley playing the guardians of your virtue.” He grins, drawing a glowing golden halo above his head with his wand.

She fumes quietly for a moment before vanishing the stupid halo in a huff. “You know who’s spreading the rumors though, don’t you?”

“No. Like I said - they’re no friend of mine. If I did know, I’d tell you so I could watch you hex their tiny little cocks off.”

“Hmm, and what if they don’t have a tiny little cock? What if the culprit is, say, a woman?”

He blinks at her innocently. “You think the Lady Weasel might be jealous of you and Potter? How cute.”

“I mean Pansy,” she snaps. “Think she hates me more than she loves you?”

“It’s probable that she does,” he admits with a surprised laugh. “She doesn’t love me at all. But no, it wouldn’t have been Pansy. My money is still on the Weasley girl. Or your gossip of a roommate Brown, more likely.”

“Malfoy-” she takes a deep breath and sighs. This is going nowhere. She grumpily decides that ignoring him might not only be wise, but may annoy him the most. She turns away and takes out a book - research on the Rule of Seven for their project - and is pleased to notice him deflate a bit.

The rest of the ride progresses in silence.

When they finally get to Chester’s office, they have both stewed silently long enough and she is ready to get the interview over with.

Chester greets them politely. She absently notes that he is quite handsome, looking strikingly like his younger brother Roger. Good genes in that family, certainly. He eyes Malfoy a tad suspiciously, but smiles at them nonetheless.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” she begins.

“Of course,” he agrees genially. “Michael explained the project to me - it sounds fascinating!”

She agrees enthusiastically while Malfoy rolls his eyes.

The interview proceeds smoothly, and she is surprised to note that she and Malfoy have an easy rapport during the questioning. Chester’s answers are clear and concise, Ravenclaw to the core.

“How did I do?” Chester grins at the end of the interview.

“You were certainly helpful to us,” she replies lightly.

He glances back at Malfoy, who is deep in the middle of another eye roll, and looks back at her. “You know, I have a feeling a lot of people will be interested in the outcome of your project. I’d be happy to introduce you to a few people if it would be helpful. Robert Hilliard was in Ravenclaw with me - he works for Millicent Bagnold, you know. He might be able to arrange a meeting with her directly - I imagine she’d be  _ fascinated _ by your work.”

She has to stifle an excited giggle at the prospect of having a sit down with the former Minister of Magic herself!

“That - would be wonderful, if it’s of no trouble.” There. Nice and calm.

“No trouble at all. You’ll have to keep me updated on how the project goes. You know,” he pauses with a grin. “My brother Roger has mentioned you before. Said you’re supposed to be quite bright - maybe you should have been sorted into Ravenclaw, eh?”

She blushes deeply. Until that moment, she had been quite sure that Roger Davies had never been aware of her existence. “Maybe so,” she laughs awkwardly.

She feels rather than sees Malfoy rolling his eyes again behind her back, and thanks Chester for his time before they depart.

“Well that was just  _ charming _ ,” drawls Malfoy as they walk back towards the train station. “He’s a little old for you though, don’t you think? Angling after his dolt of a brother, are you? You know, Flint owled and said you came onto him pretty hard too. Is that it? I think I’ve discovered your evil plan, Granger! All these in person interviews - hunting for a boyfriend, eh?”

She frowns and shudders thinking about how Marcus Flint had made her feel entirely uncomfortable. “Why would I need a boyfriend when I have such a large harem of eligible bachelors back at Hogwarts?” she sighs, rolling her eyes at him again.

“The more the merrier, I suppose.”

She hesitates. “About Flint - you asked him to act like... _ that _ , right?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Act like what? Don’t tell me he really thought you asked for his autograph, the wanker.”

“He...well, never mind.”

Malfoy laughs - actually laughs! “Well, he’s a bit of a git, but he’s not that bad of a bad bloke. What did he do?”

They come to a stop at the station platform and he looks at her closely. She turns away, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Granger...hold on. Tell me, what did he do?” His voice is suddenly lower, and she imagines it sounds almost dangerous.

“ _ Nothing _ ,” she snaps, fairly sick of conversing with him. “He was just - rather vulgar. It - made Hannah quite uncomfortable, you see. And he had heard those  _ stupid _ rumors that you and I were - well...” she trails off awkwardly and vaguely gestures to the space between the two of them. “He had some choice commentary on the subject.”

_ I heard you’re taking a ride on his broomstick these days, the lucky bastard _ , Flint had said, eyes razor focused on her breasts. And - he had  _ touched _ her, ugh. What an awful man.

He shifts next to her, saying nothing, and they wait in silence for the train to arrive.

They board in silence (no ‘m’lady’ joke this time), they sit in silence (no ridiculous half-hearted flirting), and she braces for another long and uncomfortable ride.

She takes out her book and doesn’t even look up when Malfoy orders a couple pastries from the snack cart, determined to ignore him for at least the rest of the train ride, if not forever.

“Granger,” he interrupts her plan and shoves a pastry at her. “Here.”

“I’m not hungry,” she snaps, shoving the pastry right back. Her stomach is churning rather uncomfortably.

“Look,” he sighs, leaning heavily into the seat. “About Flint. He’s a git. He would never actually  _ do _ anything, but he’s a talker. I should’ve warned you that he can be like that, but I’d figured Corner would have been there to - you know.”

Wouldn’t  _ do _ anything? That awful leering had indicated otherwise, in her mind.

“I know  _ what _ ?”

“I don’t know - to protect you I suppose. Flint is far less of a git if there are other blokes around. I wasn’t expecting Corner to bugger off.”

She sighs heavily. “I don’t need anyone to protect me. He really was a perfect Slytherin to study, I suppose - mostly gits, you lot.”

“Eh, maybe so. Well - sorry, for what it’s worth,” he mumbles. “If he comes around I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you. Or Abbott.”

She blinks in surprise and turns to look at him. He actually looks contrite and she studies his face looking for signs that this is yet another trap she is about to step into by believing he is sincere.

“Malfoy…” Thinking he may  _ actually _ be feeling some sympathy for her at the moment, she decides to take a risk. “I’m concerned,” she admits. “The pranks earlier this year were cute enough - the hair-hex, the ectoplasm, and I found my shoelaces mysteriously tied together while walking more than once. But - I’m worried that it’s escalating. That they realized the little pranks didn’t bother me too much, and now they’re trying a different approach with spreading these rumors about me.”

She watches him closely and thinks he must be calculating his next move. What to tell her, how much to tell her, why he should even bother.

“Can you -” her voice cracks slightly. “Can you  _ please _ tell me who was responsible for the pranks? I won’t get them in trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to know who to watch out for if they try something...well, worse.”

He sighs deeply, looking somewhat pained. “Granger-”

“ _ Please _ , Malfoy,” she whispers, loathe to be at an emotional disadvantage in front of him, but the stress of having the entire school think she is some sort of whore with terrible hair has bothered her more than she could have anticipated.

He grimaces and raises a hand to his forehead for a moment, clearly on the verge of breaking.

“I-” he sighs. “It’s not what you think, really.”

She stares at him, saying nothing to discourage him from speaking.

“Those stupid pranks - it really was just a couple of idiot Slytherin first-years. The hair, the bag - that’s it. I told them to knock it off, and believe me, I was quite intimidating about it.”

“A couple of idiot Slytherin first-years,” she repeats slowly. “So, what, someone else is spreading those rumors about me then? Someone else is leaving me charming little love notes calling me a - calling me slurs, and a whore? How many enemies do I have in this school, for Merlin’s sake,” she huffs, more to herself than to him. “Who were they? These idiot Slytherin first-years?”

He watches her a little nervously, and she wonders if he was surprised to hear about the note or if he is protecting yet another house-mate. “Henry Selwyn and Amelia Snyde. They’re snot-nosed little brats, certainly not the sorts to lead some sort of a conspiracy.”

She tries to remember those two names and vaguely recalls a couple of proud looking Slytherins. Selwyn and Snyde...She recalls the name Snyde as a Death Eater from the war. Maybe his offspring? And Selwyn - quite a Pureblood name. Umbridge used to drop the Selwyn name for credibility.

Her mind whirls. Sure, two first years wouldn’t be leading the charge against her, but-

She thinks about the Dark Mark for a moment.

Could there be a second-generation wave of Death Eaters in the school? Some other children with Death Eater parents and a grudge? Maybe someone who told the first-years to bother her?

Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott...all with Death Eater associations in the family. Honestly, if it’s true, half of the Slytherin house could be part of this.

It’s -  _ possible _ , but nobody has been hurt or injured (aside from her own pride). Cutesy pranks and gossip about teenage love triangles hardly qualify as Death Eater material.

“I - I told them to quit it,” Malfoy continues uncomfortably. “You know - because of the project. Need to make sure I graduate. Can’t have you distracted and all that.”

“Right. Sure,” she sighs, turning away from him to stare out the window.

“They won’t try anything again,” he insists. “Little twats.”

She turns back to him and regards him studiously for a moment. He seems fairly sure of himself, but shifts uncomfortably under his gaze.

If this was two years ago, she would absolutely believe that he could bully first-years into listening to him. But now? With a father on house arrest, she has certainly taken note of his status over the last two years. He has a less threatening aura. No longer constantly flanked by yes-men thugs like Crabbe and Goyle, who she is more likely to find off on their own or tagging along with Blaise these days.

Even Pansy Parkinson hasn’t been hanging all over him like she used to.

Despite his self-assurance, his stock has clearly fallen in the Slytherin ranks.

“I hope you’re right,” she sighs tiredly. “And - thank you, I suppose. For telling me.”

He shifts beside her again. “You ah, said they won’t get in trouble right? I was just looking out for them, you know. I was a snot-nosed Slytherin first-year once too, if you recall.”

“You forgot to mention ‘idiot,’” she points out.

“Me? Never.” His smile is half-hearted, and more of a grimace of concern. “But - about the one thousand years of punishment you mentioned…”

“I suppose I can be talked down to five hundred - but no less.”

“Very gracious.” He still looks nervous - and, acknowledging his risk of telling her the truth, she decides to be merciful and give him a break.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy - I won’t tell your Slytherin pals how you ratted them out to the Head Girl.  _ Yet _ , at any rate.”

He exhales in relief, clearly not wanting to descend any lower down the Slytherin totem pole. “Yet, eh? Very good, Granger - you needed to get a little blackmail on me. Our relationship has always been  _ so _ one-sided with the blackmail.”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her book. Distractedly, she notes that someone has scrawled the Eye of the Eagle in the top corner of one of the pages and sighs. Malfoy glances over briefly and if he notices the symbol, he doesn’t say anything.

Eagle Eyes, ‘Mudblood Whore’ notes - what’s next? Not wanting to wait around and be surprised, she starts internally debating which spell to use to protect her book bag. Maybe she’ll give whoever tries to sabotage her notes next a serious case of overgrown toenails.

The rest of the ride continues in silence, though it’s not quite uncomfortable.


	8. Chapter 8

She stares at her list in frustration, with limited progress on all fronts.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Find the ringleader of the pranks: in progress  
-Get Harry and Ron to stop being idiots and just apologize: in progress  
-Convince the entire school that she is not a whore: in progress  
-Ward bookbag: complete  
-Research the Eagle Eye: ongoing  
-Ponder the Draco Malfoy enigma: in progress  


Ron had awkwardly tried to apologize, while inadvertently making everything worse for her (“It’s just - you know, when we - I guess with what happened between you and me last summer, I -” he had started to say. Right in the middle of the BLOODY COMMON ROOM. Lavender Brown’s face had immediately lit up in pure glee).

Harry, on the other hand, instead of apologizing to her, had apologized  _ on behalf of Ron _ for being bad at apologizing.

(“Oh posh, they’re just fighting over who gets to be your maid of honor at the wedding,” Ginny had teased before noting her discomfort and following up with a “Don’t worry - they’re idiots, but their hearts are in the right place.”)

In any case, with the school now focused on gossiping about her alleged summer romance with Ron, they were  _ less _ focused on her romance with Malfoy, but  _ more _ in agreeance about her general whorishness (“From Ron to Harry to Malfoy, so quickly! And remember when she ran around with McLaggan? What a  _ whore _ ”).

The Eye of the Eagle research has largely stalled. The appearance of the symbol hastily scrawled into one of her books was somewhat disconcerting. However, if the writer was trying to send a message, she is not sure what they could be saying. The page it was written on was just some higher arithmancy theory about extracting principles from the Rule of Seven - nothing mysterious, and certainly nothing about  _ eagles _ or  _ eyes _ . She wonders if maybe it was just random, scribbled by someone else out to annoy her this year.

As for the Malfoy enigma - she has begun to compile notes on the topic:

-He claims to have prevented more pranks by the first-years  
-He did give her that hair ointment to counter the hex - and it worked  
-He seemed to think the pranks originated from a different source than the rumors  
-He doesn’t seem to be particularly close with his fellow Slytherins anymore, except for possibly Pansy  
-He was researching the Eye as well (he had checked out one of the more advanced ancient runes books in the library and was  _ refusing _ to return it on time)  
-He really was flirting with her rather a lot, wasn’t he?  
-He smells nice, she begrudgingly has to admit it  
-He was a gaping arse for setting her up on the Flint interview  
-He apologized for it -  _ apologized! _ In the six plus years she has known him, she has  _ never _ seen him apologize, and certainly not to her  
-It’s still VERY possible that he is the ringleader of the pranks, the rumors, or both and is doing it to score some easy popularity points with his housemates for messing with the Mudblood  
-But, she sort of doesn’t want it to be him  
-But, it probably is him  
-And if not, he has been acting excessively odd all year for no clear reason  


All in all, it is a very confusing sketch of him that leaves her with more questions than when she started.

In any case, she perseveres, taking a sip of tea while she prepares her notes for the interview with Helen Dawlish. The team agreed to continue with two-person interviews, and she and Michael are planning to take the floo trip from Hogwarts to London as she had done previously with Hannah.

Michael very politely comes by the library a little early to chat about how the project is going so far, but the way he keeps glancing over and blushing makes her think that she needs to have an awkward conversation with him.

“I, er, feel I owe you an apology, Michael,” she starts.

“Oh?” He tilts his head and looks surprised. She thinks that he is quite a handsome boy, overall, with thick dark locks of hair falling just above his eyes and equally dark, intense eyes.

“Yes, well, you may have heard, there are some - well, false rumors going around about me lately. I feel that I should apologize, as your name may have been dragged into this nonsense.”

His ears turn quite crimson and he averts his eyes. “Ah, er - well, yes, I may have heard something about that.”

She sighs deeply and inwardly curses her anonymous tormentor for causing her to force her way through so many awkward conversations this year. “Well, I am sorry. And - you do know it’s all rubbish, don’t you?”

His blush deepens. “Well, I figured that stuff about Malfoy was silly. We all spend so much time together and - well, Hannah and I agreed it was - you know. It seemed silly.”

“Ah. Good. Right then.” She hesitates for a moment. “Hannah mentioned that you might have...heard a rumor? About me and Harry?”

He doesn’t meet her eyes. “...yeah, um, I can’t recall who mentioned it exactly. One of the first years maybe - they rather enjoy spreading gossip around, the little monsters.”

“Hmm, I suppose.” 

There seemed to be quite a lot of blaming the first years going on. She remembers back in her first year, she certainly had more important Dark Wizardy things to worry about than to spare any concern about which upperclassmen were snogging in the corridors.

“Hey,” he starts again. “You’ll be at the Halloween party right?”

“Mandatorily, yes I will be.” She reaches into her bag for a few more pages of notes related to the upcoming interview.

“Why don’t you go with me?” he blurts, somehow turning even redder than she would have thought possible.

She stares at him in surprise for a moment. The boy is  _ crimson _ \- did he have some sort of a crush on her? Was that possible? Or maybe he believes all the stupid rumors as well. Oh, good grief.

After a moment of her staring at him, his face seems to lock into more of an indifferent place and his blush fades so quickly that she wonders if he might be some sort of occlumens. That, or just a teenage boy long accustomed awkward moments like these.

“You know - as friends,” he manages with a smooth smile. “We can stand really far apart and prove to everyone those rumors are false, yeah?”

She forces a polite laugh. “I think I’d better stay away from even friend-dates at this point, I’m afraid. The last thing I need right now is more drama. But - thank you for asking, Michael. I mean that.”

“Right. Sure. Well, I’ll see you there anyway, maybe we can stand far apart from each other regardless.” He does have a nice smile and is a good looking lad. And sweet. And quite good at arithmancy. Maybe it might have been nice, if things were just a little different this year, she thinks.

“I’d like that,” she smiles back before turning back to her notes.

“Hey, so do you think we should pursue that interview with Hilliard?” he asks, apparently quite ready for a change of subject. “I did a bit of an internship with him last summer. He’s an interesting fellow - you know he’s been working at Millicent Bagnold’s foundation since graduation, yeah?”

They continue to chat amicably about the internship he did, and vaguely about post-graduation goals. He would love to pick up at the Bagnold Foundation, and of course, she has too many excellent ideas for where she should land (Department of Mysteries sounds excessively fascinating, but aurors certainly have their perks, but perhaps eventually coming back to Hogwarts to teach is the right answer? So many exciting options!). Then again, a part of her is urging caution with getting her hopes up as she thinks on the inevitable war.

“Although,” laughs Michael. “Maybe our project can help us decide, yeah? If we come up with an arithmancy formula that tells me I should be a famous quidditch player instead of a philanthropist, then so be it!”

“Indeed!” she grins. “If I end up being the one who should be a philanthropist, I hope you’ll praise me to Millicent Bagnold.”

“Of course,” he agrees with a nod. “I expect Hannah might be - what do you think, a mandrake tamer? She’s so nice, I expect the mandrakes would apologize for bothering her when they get too cranky.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that, absolutely. Or an oneiromancer,” she rolls her eyes. “And what about Malfoy - we’ll have to see if ‘useless lazy wealthy heir’ is a potential outcome.”

“Hah - a Death Eater, more likely,” scoffs Michael vehemently.

She frowns at him, and he looks bashful for a moment.

“Well, his father, you know - er, right, that was rude. I just meant, him and his lot are quite the bullies. Never liked him much.”

“You’re not the only one,” she sighs bitterly. “But at least nobody has accused you of shacking up with him.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “And - you know Hermione, nobody really believes this stuff right? We’ve all been together for six years - people ought to know you a little better than that by now, right? I know  _ I _ do.”

She frowns, still a little miffed about Harry and Ron believing more than they should have. Not to mention the fact that up until barely a week ago, Michael himself had believed that she and Harry were together. “Thanks Michael. I hope you’re right - ah...oh, no.”

Her attention is caught in a leaf of parchment shoved between her notes containing an incredibly lewd drawing.

Of her. With Malfoy. And Harry. As in,  _ with _ them. While naked. Complete with animation.

Michael glances over and gapes for a moment before rapidly averting his eyes and blushing once again.

Barely better drawn than stick figures, she is identifiable by her psychotic hair, Harry by his crudely drawn scar, and Malfoy by an arrow above his head with the word ‘Malfoy’ helpfully scrawled next to it.

She pales. The content is rather horrifying (including the delightful detail of having a little text box appear out of the Malfoy character’s mouth in which the words ‘Mudblood Whore’ appear every time he - oh, Merlin - thrusts into her naked avatar), but she has a more pressing concern. Her bag had been  _ warded _ . And not by some simple charm - it was a multi-level ward, requiring a password and the proper counterspell to open. This means that someone-

She crumbles the letter up in disgust, reaching for her wand and preparing to light the thing on fire, but pauses. Could there be some evidence, maybe?

Her brow furrows. Someone  _ broke through her complex wards _ just to leave some vulgar, badly drawn artwork? To what end? To taunt her? Let her know that they can get to her if they want to? It certainly was not any first year who could break her wards. This  _ has _ to be something personal - but what is the  _ purpose _ ??

“All right, Hermione?” Harry sneaks up, interrupting her examination.

She glances up, still glaring. “Hi Harry,” she greets, inadvertently snappishly.

“Er - is this a bad time? Was hoping to chat for a minute,” he blanches at her tone.

“I- sorry, yes, now is fine.” She glances over at Michael. “Meet you by the floo in an hour?”

Michael nods a little bashfully and eyes Harry before sulking away (embarrassed because of that drawing? Upset because he wanted to walk her to the floo? She does  _ not _ have time for any new mysteries, at any rate).

Harry takes a seat and watches Michael walk away. “That wanker,” he mutters.

“He’s all right,” she sighs, hiding the drawing featuring him out of his sight for the time being. “What is it, Harry?”

“I’ve been a git,” Harry admits with a frown. “I’m a jerk, and I’m sorry.”

She smiles at him, fairly proud that he is (finally) apologizing. “Yes, you are a git. But thank you for the apology. I’m afraid I do not accept, our friendship is over forever.”

He holds a hand over his heart. “But apparently, our romance bravely carries on - so Lavender tells me,” he grins.

She groans. “That’s nice that you think it’s cute - you’re a  _ boy _ . You get to fake-date around and have all the lads rushing to high five you. Meanwhile, I’ve had the entire school calling me a whore behind my back for weeks now.”

“Come off it,” he laughs skeptically. “Really? Nobody would actually believe you’d date Malfoy!”

“Don’t forget, I’m currently dating you, Ron, Michael, Blaise, Seamus, AND Malfoy. It’s quite a club you’re a part of.”

“I agree with Ron - Corner has to be the worst of the lot.”

“Well - if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he’s sitting around pining after Ginny. I’m afraid he  _ must _ believe that you and I are dating. He just asked me to the Halloween party, after all - and we all know he only pines after your chosen woman, doesn’t he?” she winks half-heartedly.

“Hah,” Harry waves his hand in the air. “As your imaginary lover, I forbid you from ever dating Corner. Or Malfoy for that matter, obviously.”

“Imaginary me doesn’t seem to care what you think - she rather gets around, doesn’t she?”

“Well, like I said, nobody believes it. We all know you’re too prim and proper to be a  _ madame _ .”

“Well- I hate to break it to you like this, but apparently  _ someone _ believes it.” She sighs and shoves the vulgar artwork towards him with a groan.

He takes a look and his jaw drops open. “Well, that is rather obscene. So...clearly, we are looking for the least talented artist in the school, yeah?” His nose scrunches up uncomfortably.

“I was going to burn it, but if you’d like to do the honors? I can’t think of any clues we can glean from this nonsense, and I’d certainly prefer _ not  _ to show a professor and watch them have a fright.”

He takes out his wand and performs a quick Incendio. “How awful. You all right?”

“Harry...I found that thing in my notes.” Her voice is low and serious. “My notes were in my bag - which was  _ warded _ . And it’s not the first note I’ve gotten this year - someone has been leaving me cute little notes all year - mudblood, whore, and the like. Between that, the hexes, the rumors...you would tell me if I’m crazy for suggesting it’s all connected, right?”

He nods gravely. “Look, I haven’t told Ron yet, but - the dreams. I’ve been having them again. Voldemort - he’s on the move. I don’t know what he’s planning - after the Department of Mysteries, I never stay too long or completely trust what I’m seeing, but -  _ something _ is happening. I think it really was the Death Eaters who attacked the twins’ shop, and I think they’re going to escalate.”

“Harry, that’s - really not good. Reckon we should tell Dumbledore?”

Harry seems to ponder that for a moment. “And tell him what exactly? I’d like to, but if a few seconds from my dreams and some pranks - and a bit of poorly drawn pornography - are all we have? Do you think we should distract the Order for  _ that _ ? They need to maintain their focus on what’s going on  _ out there _ , don’t they?”

She swallows heavily. “The Dark Mark from the hallway, the Eagle Eye...I think it’s all connected, Harry. It has to be. The Weasleys were vandalized  _ the same day _ that Dark Mark graffiti appeared in the school. I cannot believe that was a coincidence, not anymore. If the Death Eaters are planning something outside the castle walls, it’s not a leap to assume they’re planning something for the  _ inside _ as well.”

He sighs and leans back heavily in his chair. “You know what you’re saying, right? That we have a group of student Death Eaters running amok in the school?”

“That’s  _ exactly _ what I’m saying, Harry. And for some reason, they’ve been targeting me rather heavily.”

“For some reason?” Harry frowns at her. “Come on, Hermione. They have  _ every  _ reason to target you. A muggle-born witch who’s smarter than the lot of them combined? Not to mention successful? You’re the Head Girl for Merlin’s sake - you’re  _ visible _ , and you symbolize everything they stand against.”

“Smart  _ and _ successful? Stop flirting with me Harry,” she smiles weakly, suddenly exhausted by everything.

“Never,” he grins gamely. “Though I have to say, before you ask - there’s no way I will  _ ever _ be a participant in a threesome with you and Malfoy, no matter how much you beg me. A bloke’s gotta draw the line somewhere, doesn’t he?”

“Oh Merlin’s pants,” she mutters, slapping a hand to her head.

His grin fades and his eyes harden. “Look - you know how I feel about this. Do you think he might be one of them? He’s obviously problematic, Hermione.”

She shrugs. “Sure, he  _ seems _ likely doesn’t he, but-" she hesitates. “He actually helped me out the other day. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“Suspicious, more like,” Harry mutters. 

“He told me the hexers were a couple of first year Slytherin gits, but listen to this - Snyde and Selwyn. One’s the daughter of a Death Eater, and the other is just steeped in the typical pureblood trappings. Maybe they were taking orders from someone? Someone older, and talented enough to break through my wards?”

He sighs. “So - what, any older student in Slytherin is a suspect? If not Malfoy, then who? I can’t see it being Zabini, and his family has never been the Death Eater sort. You think Crabbe and Goyle could’ve figured out how to de-ward your bag?”

“I really don’t know. Do you get any ‘evil Death Eater’ impressions from Pansy?”

A familiar flush creeps onto his face. “Er - no, but…”

She raises an eyebrow. “But? Oh, Harry. What did you do?”

He covers his face with a splayed hand. “I, er, askedhertotheHalloweenparty,” he spits out dramatically.

“Harry, you didn’t!” she laughs. “Remember when you very rudely demanded that I spy on Malfoy? Your turn, yeah? Maybe she knows something?”

“Well, maybe, but she didn’t exactly accept my invitation,” he admits.

“Not exactly? What on earth does that mean?”

“She sort of said...well, she didn’t say yes  _ or _ no, she just said she thought I might be  _ interesting _ . What on earth does  _ that  _ mean, I ask you? You girls are the worst,” he insists.

She starts packing up her bag. “Please! Be careful Harry, I’m about to write an essay about the perils of being a woman and I will make you memorize it whenever you start moping.”

He groans and holds up his hands. “Right then, yes, you win, boys are right gits, every single one of us. Let me walk you to the floo, yeah?”

“Fine - but if you make a move on me, Harry Potter, I promise to slap you silly.”


	9. Chapter 9

She glares at her list most dubiously.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Find the ringleader of the pranks: in progress  
-Convince the entire school that she is not a whore: in progress  
-Research the Eagle Eye: ongoing  
-Try to relax and maybe have fun for a moment at the Halloween party: not started  


‘Relax. Maybe have fun.’ Ha! A noble goal, perhaps, what with everything going on this year.

At any rate, the capstone project is entering the second phase. Fewer in person interviews now that they have their baseline (though she is quite excited about the potential to meet Millicent Bagnold), preferring written correspondence to compare against the first wave. Moving forward, instead they will be focusing heavily on the arithmancy aspect. The final interview of the first wave for the capstone project went swimmingly. Despite the potential awkwardness of having rejected his invitation to more or less be his date to the Halloween party, she and Michael proved to have an easy rapport. 

She can see why Ginny went with him for a bit, and thinks to herself that she might need to intervene and get the two of them back together if Harry continues to be a twat with this Pansy Parkinson crush.

The excitement of Halloween has had the school aflutter, undercurrents of tension momentarily forgotten.

One thing that has not been forgotten, however, are the regular ‘Hermione is a slut’ reminders. Having started to keep her book bag on her person at all times, the notes have found more clever paths to reach her - unfamiliar owls delivering fresh artwork, folded up prefect memos revealed to be Mudblood-themed insults delivered to her by unsuspecting first years, an impressive bit of nonverbal fairly pornographic  _ Flagrate  _ drawings unnoticed by Professor Binns during History of Magic, despite the sniggering of the entire class. 

One particularly disturbing new addition was a crudely drawn (likely by the same artist as before) picture of herself getting ravaged by multiple Death Eaters, complete with the masks. The poorly drawn version of herself seemed to be having a good time, based on a number of factors, but she interprets it as a threat anyway. Still hesitant to bring these incidents to the attention of the faculty however, she keeps trying her best to subtly investigate.

The first years have been of no help. Trying to befriend the young Gryffindors was an exercise in frustration, further highlighting the age gap between their years. She had been hoping to find some brave souls willing to spy on the Slytherins, Selwyn and Snyde, for her, with little luck.

With each new incident, somehow it seems the rumors are gaining momentum. She hears cruel laughter when she walks down the hallway. Japing when she has to interact with any male prefect. Harry’s presence at her side only further exacerbates things.

She wonders, when she hears the laughs behind her back, if one of those students is laughing differently from the others. At least one of her schoolmates is laughing because they caused this, didn’t they?

“Oi, Hermione, go to the party with me?” asks Ron as they walk to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. The party for the upperclassmen will be happening after dinner, scheduled for three hours of good natured, theoretically sober fun.

“Absolutely not. You’re awful, Ron - the party is in two hours!”

He shrugs. “Oh, I dunno, thought you might’ve been planning to ask  _ me _ actually.”

“And why on earth would I ask you to be my date? You still haven’t even properly apologized to me.”

He looks a bit crestfallen for a moment, but not enough to make her feel badly about needling him. He had certainly blundered his way into announcing the fact that they had a  _ history _ of some undefined variety to the school, though she is quite confident he has at least blabbed about it previously to Harry and the Gryffindor boys in a little bit more graphic detail.

“I am sorry, you know that, yeah?” he asks her earnestly.

“Of course I do, you dolt. Now - don’t hug me, I couldn’t stand it if one more rumor about me gets started because of you.”

He laughs a little shyly. “Yeah, well. Maybe you, me, and Harry can go. There’s no way Parkinson actually goes with him, right?”

“Ron - like I said, the  _ last _ thing I want is any more rumors. I can just imagine if I show up with the both of you! No thank you, I’ll be going by myself and will hex any bloke who tries to stand near me.”

“Well, you’ll  _ never _ get a boyfriend that way,” Ron observes dutifully.

She ends up going to the party with Ginny, arriving well before anyone else to ensure a proper set-up. Ginny, of course, is happy to point out how honored she is to be Hermione’s date amongst all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes in the school.

They both dressed up somewhat - cute dresses, Gryffindor colors of course, with a bit more makeup than usual, though Hermione was careful to be a little conservative overall. She hates to let  _ them _ win, whoever they are, but she wants to emerge from this evening with no new smears on her character (“She wore a  _ slutty dress _ ! We could see her  _ cleavage _ ! What a  _ whore! _ ”). Absolutely unfair and ridiculous.

Blaise arrives shortly thereafter looking properly handsome, and greets the two of them quickly before helping her ensure that everything is properly prepared. There is plenty of food, the punch hasn’t been spiked yet, and the music is playing. The decorations are very ‘unity!’-themed, with all house colors having their fair share of representation. There are some small games set out (gobstones, exploding snap, and the like), and everything seems to be in order. As students start to file in, even Blaise seems to relax for a moment.

“We’ll see how this goes,” Blaise mutters to her before leaving to greet the attendees.

Harry and Ron walk up to her and Ginny when they arrive looking quite dapper in their suits. 

“Well, don’t you two look nice together,” compliments Ginny with a careful smile.

“Bah,” complains Ron. “Hermione rudely wouldn’t be my date, so I had to settle for Harry. This is an  _ awful _ party.”

“Well I think it looks great, Hermione,” compliments Harry with a nod, glancing around the room (presumably looking for Pansy rather than studying the decor).

“Thank you, Harry. And Ron - don’t worry, I saw Seamus just walked in, so I’m sure the punch will be ready to help you  _ have fun at a party _ quite soon. And besides, I’m sure after you make one hundred saves in the game next weekend, the ladies will be lining up for you, hm?”

Ron sulks and wanders off to get a drink.

“Look Hermione, you broke my poor brother’s heart,” insists Ginny. “Hey, isn’t this the new Lorcan D’eath song? I quite like it.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry replies distractedly.

“Might, ah, be nice to dance to, you know?”

“Hmm,” Harry agrees, possibly.

Ginny stares at him incredulously for a moment before rolling her eyes and turning back to Hermione. “I think I see Michael Corner across the way looking for someone to dance with. I’m going to go investigate that. He’s not one of yours, is he Hemione?” she grins, but is clearly put out with Harry.

“Imaginary Hermione’s, yes he is. Real Life Hermione’s, no he is not,” she replies with an eye roll of her own for good measure.

As Ginny wanders away, Hermione turns to Harry, still distracted, and smacks him lightly on the side of his head.

“Hey! What was that for?” 

“Do you honestly not know? You quite rudely just rejected Ginny for a dance, you arse!”

“Did I?” he asks, jaw dropping. “No I didn’t! She said she liked the song - she didn’t ask me to dance!”

“Harry,” she shakes her head. “You really are an idiot sometimes, you know?”

“Hey,” he holds his hands up in defence. “She - I mean, she hasn’t indicated that she - you think she’s interested, really?”

“Oh, Harry.”

“What-! How was I supposed to know? You’re not just pulling my leg are you? Like if I go ask her to dance, she’s not going to stomp on my foot and send Dean to beat me up or something? And she went to go dance with that git Corner-”

“She and Dean broke up  _ months _ ago and you know it! And she and Michael were never that serious.”

His brow furrows in genuine confusion. “Well, I know  _ that _ , but that doesn’t mean she’s still interested in  _ me _ at all, does it?”

“Oh, for- look, what do I know? Please, feel free to ignore me. You. Dolt.”

“This really is rich coming from you.” His tone is still playful but has an edge of seriousness to it.

“What is  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been rather rude to Ron, you know.”

“That’s completely different!”

“Is it? He literally asked you to be his date tonight and you rejected him. He’s been in love with you for years now, you know that!”

She blanches. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Please, feel free to ignore me, you dolt,” he rolls his eyes.

“What-” she glances around the room rapidly. “Look, he’s over there flirting with -  _ ugh _ , Lavender. He has never shown any real interest in me, be serious.”

“Never?” asks Harry. “Look, he’s been  _ pining  _ about you! He really thought it was going to happen this year, especially after what happened with you guys last summer-”

“ _ What did he say _ ,” she interrupts vehemently, narrowing her eyes and leveling him with a violent glare. “To his  _ mates _ about the secret he was sworn to keep by the woman he supposedly loves?”

“Ah - not much. Just that, you know, you two had a moment.”

Judging by the blush creeping up Harry’s neck, he certainly knows quite a bit more than ‘not much’, and she pinches her forehead. She had expected this to happen at some point, but it hurts nonetheless.

At that precise moment, Pansy Parkinson wanders past them with an amused smirk on her face. “Lover’s quarrel?” she inquires, not stopping on her way to the drink table.

“We’re not - uh,” stammers Harry. “Aaaand she’s gone. Lovely.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Hermione starts to laugh quietly. “You really  _ are _ a dolt.”

Harry lets out a chuckle too. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“Remember that bit about how you’re the Chosen One? Saving the wizarding world and all that? Not to mention good marks, quidditch team captain, and not horribly awful to look at? You really ought to be more confident, you know.”

“Not horribly awful to look at,” he repeats with a groan. “You know what, I think I’ll just go get a little pissed with Seamus and see if that helps.”

“It might, although surely you'll have an entirely new batch of problems to deal with. And, Harry - er, thanks for telling me that. About Ron. I really didn’t know that he...well, I’ll have a chat with him.”

He runs a hand through his always disheveled looking hair. “Yeah, sorry to have dropped that on you like that. If you don’t decide to just date him to make my life easier, then let him down easy, yeah? And, maybe don’t tell him I told you?”

“Oh no, you don’t get off that easy. I’ll be  _ very  _ clear that it’s all your fault.”

After Harry’s final protests before wandering off, she takes a moment to analyze her surroundings. Malfoy walks across her field of vision with an indifferent look on his face and glances at her.

She offers him a slight smile, almost on accident. He really had been decent to her for once the other day, hadn’t he?

He sulks past her with a bit of a smirk, and she sighs heavily.

Truthfully, she has been braced for some sort of incident to occur over the course of the evening. With nearly all of the fifth years and above present, it seems like a perfect opportunity for her shadowy nemesis to make a statement.

Some sort of ‘Hermione’s a slut’ bit of embarrassment? Or something more sinister, like a Dark Mark appearance? She certainly hadn’t expected the first unnerving occurance to take place at Harry’s hands and revolve around Ron, of all people.

Glancing around the room, a few key figures stand out to her. A very insistent Daphne Greengrass is half-dragging Blaise Zabini onto the dance floor; they storm right past two exceedingly blushed faces in the form of Hannah and Neville chatting with each other, despite a (likely drunken) intervention from Seamus. Michael Corner is very gamely sharing a dance with Ginny, who seems to be doing her best not to glance around looking for anyone in particular.

Her final capstone partner Malfoy is...well, glowering, per usual. He is leaning against a wall by himself holding a drink, an extremely bored expression on his face. Such a strange boy, constantly wavering between light-hearted flirting, mean-spirited insults, and completely ignoring her. She huffs and wonders why he even bothered to show up just to not talk to anyone and be the only person not having a fun time.

Finally, she looks over at Ron, a drink in hand and leaning in, whispering something in Lavender’s ear. She is simpering at him, and for a moment Hermione is absolutely convinced that Harry had completely misunderstood everything.

The incident with Ron had hardly been full of romantic overtures, and certainly not part of a plan on Ron’s part to  _ woo _ her. She had stayed at the Burrow over the summer, as there were some concerns that as Voldemort’s power and influence continued to grow, there might have been some potential repercussions for Harry’s friends.

Never one to abandon her routines, Hermione had decided to take an early morning stroll through the nearby park before going to town. By some miracle, Ron had been awake earlier than usual that morning and offered to join her.

It wasn’t  _ planned _ though.

She remembers the walk as being lovely, but hardly  _ flirty _ . Then again, she has other more powerful memories from that day.

The Death Eaters had appeared out of nowhere! In full regalia, two of them had appeared from the trees firing spells. She remembers Ron shoving her out of the way of a stunner, and from the ground she threw a shielding spell up around him. She had been grateful that neither of the two Death Eaters had used any unforgivables, thinking maybe they were new recruits.

She had run over to Ron, grabbed him by the wrist as he was hurling spells, and apparated them both just as a stream of red jets would have made contact with her face.

When they landed somewhere in the fields near the Burrow, she was on top of him and he was  _ gazing _ at her and both their hands were shaking and they were  _ pale _ and  _ scared  _ and her heart had been beating so fast in fear and he had held her tightly and whispered comforting things and in a panic she had  _ kissed him _ and then-

She watches him as he flirts with Lavender and wonders if it’s possible that he did think it had been more than an adrenaline fueled celebration of survival. They hadn’t actually slept together, but it had been the first intense sexual experience for either of them. He had been kind, and sweet, and  _ Ron _ , but…

She sighs, already dreading having this conversation with him, but more so hoping he doesn’t hook up with Lavender as some sort of revenge against her. He can do better than Lav, can’t he? She’s often lovely, of course, but there are so many pretty girls in the school who  _ haven’t _ had a hand so directly in her own misery this year - which she thinks is a reasonable prerequisite for anyone trying to date her friends.

Thinking about Ron (he had gently cupped her face when he’d kissed her) has put her in a mood, and she decides one sturdy drink is certainly well within her right at this point. She won’t be sneaking shots with Seamus and Dean of course, but just one to help settle her nerves. ‘Relax and have fun,’ her list had instructed.

She is still quite sure that even though it looks like everyone except for Malfoy (and now, maybe, herself) is having fun,  _ something _ is bound to go wrong. With a large group of unsupervised tipsy and horny teenagers, let alone with the tension in the air, it seems fairly inevitable.

As she pours herself a drink from the communal bowl, she glances up and meets Malfoy’s eyes for a moment. He is still leaning, and still glowering, but he is engaged in a muted conversation with his old henchman Gregory Goyle. He regards her coolly for a moment before turning back to his friend.

She sighs. She had almost let herself think for a moment that things might have been thawing somewhat between them. He hadn’t  _ had _ to help her resolve the hair-hex, and he certainly hadn’t  _ had _ to rat out his housemates to her. And yet, whenever she thinks she has made any progress whatsoever, the frustrating man seems to clam up and scuttle several steps backwards.

Lost in her reverie, she somehow nearly manages to miss the looming form of Vincent Crabbe until she turns around and he almost crashes into her.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, assuming she is in the way of him acquiring another drink, but the way he eyes her gives her pause and she immediately is on the defensive.

Always a stocky lad, she has never given the boy much thought outside of his friendship with Malfoy and general thuggishness. His bullying throughout the years had generally been less cleverly hurtful than Malfoy’s - though still plenty hurtful. He has two younger Slytherins with him of a similarly burly build. She recognizes one of them as a sixth-year named Harper, and the other a fifth-year named...Scalby, perhaps? 

She starts to move around him to get away from the drink table, but he plants himself firmly in her way while the other two boys move to encircle her between them and the table. She frowns, trying to remember the last time she has even had a conversation with Crabbe. They have had classes together throughout the years of course, but have never been partnered together. 

Could  _ he _ be the one causing her so much misery this year? He has always been somewhat unimpressive in the classroom. She doubts he has the skill to have broken through the wards on her bag, but the underwhelming artistic skills might align. He certainly has always had a dislike of Harry, but she had assumed it was through Malfoy more so than a personal grudge.

Crabbe stares her down unsmiling. “Looks like the Mudblood wants a drink, boys.”

She starts in surprise at the slur as his chums snort. They are in  _ public _ , how incredibly indecent.

“You know what they say about her, yeah boys?” he grunts. “They made her the Head Girl for a reason. Heard she sucked the old man off to earn it. Guess the only question is, did she swallow? Or did she  _ spit _ ?”

Crabbe leans forward, maintaining eye contact with her, loudly sucks back some drool and spits right into her cup.

She gapes at him for a moment in shock.

“Well, Mudblood?” Crabbe growls, looming over her with a cold smile and suddenly she feels incredibly small. “Gonna drink up?”

She glances around - she is fairly trapped by the three burly boys, but is sure that at  _ some _ point someone will notice this display and break it up, right? She had lost track of Harry, and Ron was likely still flirting in a corner with Lavender, and - oh, Seamus and Dean were likely quite smashed by this point, but-

Crabbe takes a step forward and for a moment she is almost intimidated, however - the boy is a thug, true, but he is and always has been an absolute idiot. She is confident she can handle worse than him, so she squares her shoulders and holds her head high.

Placing her bespoiled cup on the table, she calmly (somewhat calmly, anyway - she wills her hands to stop shaking) pours herself another one and turns back to him. “Ten points from Slytherin for indecent behavior. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says tartly before trying once again to step around him, but he holds fast.

Crabbe’s lip curls in disgust and she thinks he might  _ actually _ spit in her drink again, and-

“Move along, boys,” comes a bored sounding voice to her left. “Some of us want to have a drink without your spittle contaminating the entire bowl.”

Crabbe raises an eyebrow and frowns deeply at her timely rescuer, but says nothing. He jerks his head to the left, and he and his cronies depart. She watches them head back in the direction of Malfoy and Goyle, and something cold curls in the pit of her stomach.

Pansy Parkinson walks up to her, face a perfect, beautiful mask of indifference, and refills her own glass. “No need to thank me, Granger.”

She finds herself taking a rather large gulp of the alcoholic punch to help still her nerves before frowning curiously at Pansy. “Any idea what that was all about? That was more than Crabbe has literally ever spoken to me before. Cumulative.”

Pansy shrugs. “Maybe he’s heard all those rumors about you and wanted to test them out himself. He’s an oaf, but even oafs get horny.”

She should never have expected a straightforward conversation with the girl. Clearly she is a little shaken by the strangeness of the confrontation. “An oaf indeed,” she scoffs. “He accused me of having gotten the Head Girl position by orally servicing the headmaster.  _ Head _ girl, see. Get it?”

Pansy snorts. “Nobody has ever accused Vincent Crabbe of being overly clever, I’m afraid.”

She almost wants to have a moment of feminine solidarity with the girl. Rumors started circulating about Pansy from the moment she grew into her body, and Hermione finds herself examining them with cynicism now. The girl has been linked on and off with Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle simultaneously, and of course she has had to suffer nearly every boy in the school ogling her and her breasts for years now.

Pansy leans against the table next to her for a moment and sighs. “That said, I’d steer clear of him if I were you, Granger. An oaf through and through, but a bit of a scary one sometimes.”

“Well, I’ll rescind my invitation to tea then, in that case,” she quips, studying Pansy for a moment. “I suppose I should thank you for stepping in when you did - I’d hate to be the one responsible for ruining this party by shooting off hexes. Everyone hates me enough as it is these days.”

Pansy shrugs nonchalantly, gazing out onto the dance floor.

Hermione looks around and notices Harry has snuck into a corner with Seamus and Dean, and she has a funny feeling she’ll have to levitate him back to the tower later in the evening, the poor lightweight.

“So,” she starts, hesitatingly. “You’re working on the capstone project with Harry, yeah?”

Pansy quirks an eyebrow and levels her with an amused stare. “Jealous, are we?”

She frowns. “I wish people would stop thinking that.”

Pansy laughs coldly. “Well if I understand the rumors correctly, you and I are supposed to be fighting. You know - because we’re both  _ so in love _ with Draco.”

She frowns, glancing over briefly at the supposed object of their desire, still standing about in a surly manner near the wall. “When did it become so horrible to be a woman here?” she wonders aloud.

“It’s always been like this, Granger. Sorry to have to be the one to point it out to you...but I’m glad you’ve finally noticed.”

“Are you?”

“Sure. Treat it like one of your house-elf committees and  _ crusade _ about it, if you please. I’d love to exist in this school beyond just being a pair of tits to be ogled and gossiped about, you know.”

Hermione lets out a breath and laughs slightly, deciding that the time to get Harry back for his nonsense is nigh. “I’m sorry that I know what you mean. You know, though, I have to say...maybe it’s not my place, but I do think Harry actually quite likes you. He blushes quite a bit whenever your name comes up.”

“Embarrassed about his hard-on, perhaps, poor thing.”

“I mean it,” she offers with a shrug, having bonded enough (or not) with Pansy and ready to move along. At any rate, she decides it is unlikely that Pansy is the one who has been setting her up, and even less likely that the girl might hold any affection for Harry.

Pansy hesitates for a moment as Hermione shifts to leave. “I’m a little surprised at you, Granger, you’re supposed to be the  _ smart  _ one. Potter might be a little distracted by me, for now, but he’s clearly in love with Weasley.”

Hermione frowns at that.

“The girl Weasley,” Pansy clarifies with a smirk. “Well, frankly, probably the boy too. Anyway, it’s blatantly obvious that they’re both being too stupid to admit it to each other, and I’m…” she trails off with a calm shrug and a vague gesture to her breasts.

“Harry’s not like that,” she insists, watching Ginny chatting with Michael and a few of the Ravenclaw boys, a tight smile plastered on her face.

“ _ All _ boys are like that,” Pansy retorts with a hint of cynical wisdom.

Hermione sighs, taking another long sip from her drink and debates the benefits of refilling her cup one more time before going back to her actual friends. Dealing with Slytherins is  _ exhausting _ . She glances around briefly, ensuring the path is clear of any big, dumb, scary oafs. The menacing group has largely scattered. She notes that Malfoy is alone again, still  _ leaning _ , still watching her from underneath hooded eyes.

She wonders for a moment if Malfoy has begun to delegate his bullying responsibilities. Goyle had been standing with Malfoy when Crabbe came over. Maybe Malfoy had sent the Slytherin pack over with explicit instructions to make her uncomfortable? And he has been  _ watching _ her all evening, hasn’t he? For what purpose? The number of unknowns continues to grow more and more frustrating.

Blaise approaches the two of them in a huff before she can leave.

“All right, Head Boy?” Pansy smiles with a glint in her eyes. “You know, Granger here was just telling me a  _ fascinating _ story about how Heads are chosen.”

“I am absolutely dreading having to hear about that,” Blaise snits. “But I need to borrow your...friend...for a moment. Head business. Granger? Walk with me?”

She nodes a farewell at Pansy. Friends? Certainly not. Enemies? Doubtful, yet possible. But - when the girl had warned her to stay away from Crabbe, did that  _ mean  _ anything? Did she know something? Hermione thinks about Malfoy, with the veiled comments he has been making all year, and wonders how deep the waters run in the dungeons.

“Thanks Parkinson, for your…insight.”

Pansy inclines her head and sips her drink with an apathetic shrug.

“Well, Blaise?” she asks as they start to walk.

“I need to apologize, Hermione. You see, I just performed a bit of Slytherin sneakery on you. I didn’t want to dance with Daphne any longer, and ‘Head Business’ was the perfect excuse. I wondered if you might need a rescue from your conversation with Pansy. She can be a bit…” he shrugs and smiles lightly.

Hermione laughs. “Seems rather un-Slytherin of you to admit it, but thank you for your honesty. And - it was far from my worst conversation with her, but I know what you mean.”

“Well, I think the party has been going well enough,” he observes. “Everyone seems to be having fun. And nobody has gotten drunk and retched that I’m aware of.”

“Yet,” she notes, looking around for Seamus, sure to be responsible for any retching-related activities.

“True. In any case, everyone is getting along for once, aren’t they? It’s too bad we can’t throw a party like this every month.”

She laughs again. “Well, everyone will be distracted by quidditch for the next couple weeks. Hopefully this party will last them through November, at least. And of course, we’ll have the Yule gathering.”

“Of course. Maybe we can improvise another distraction between now and then,” he nods with a smile.

Her mind is immediately racing with ideas (a charity campaign! a gobstones tournament! a field trip to the Ministry of Magic!), but she pauses and watches Blaise for a moment.

Before she can allow herself to observe that he is quite a beautiful boy, she makes a quick mental list of where the seventh year Slytherins most likely to want to ruin her stand in her mind:

-Parkinson: unlikely to be her torturer, and it seems they may have more of a shared misery than she had initially suspected

-Zabini: unlikely as well; he was a little neurotic maybe, but has certainly been quite nice to her, and they work well together as Heads

-Crabbe/Goyle: maybe? She lumps them together, but is still not convinced that even combined they would have been able to break her wards; they were very complex wards! And neither boy has shown any particular academic inclination in the past. But Crabbe’s approach has been the most overtly threatening, and both have Death Eater fathers, so the motivation is certainly there

-Malfoy: 

She sighs, at a loss for how to categorize him. He is either obviously and absolutely responsible, or not at all, and if he’s not, he either knows exactly who is targeting her and why, or he doesn’t know anything at all. 

Thinking about Malfoy is an exercise in frustration at this point.

What about the other Slytherins? Nott? Bulstrode? Greengrass? They were certainly laying low if it was one of them, not making their intentions known, which is perhaps even more unsettling.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a sudden shriek from near the corner of the room in front of them. 

“SNAAAKES!” screeches Lavender, and the entire room instantly erupts into chaos.

She and Blaise look at each other and pale before sprinting across the room, wands drawn.

Lavender has already jumped into Ron’s arms while he tries his best to climb a table, unable to even find his wand with her hair in his face, let alone cast anything. 

Hermione is about to roll her eyes at her roommate but then she sees what had made Lavender scream - the ground near her feet is quite literally  _ crawling _ with snakes! More than a hundred of them! And - they’re  _ glowing _ , a dark green light emanating from their bodies. And they are slithering across the floor, hissing and spreading panic as the other students notice them and try to run away.

She shudders, looking around for Harry in a hurry (could he just tell the snakes in Parseltongue to leave them all alone for the night?), but can’t find him. Almost at once, Malfoy is at her side, wand drawn and looking grim. Seamus stumbles past her looking like he might throw up. Michael Corner and a few of the Ravenclaw boys run past her in a rush, but suddenly -

A blue light  _ explodes _ in front of her! She and Blaise draw back and watch in astonishment - the light transforms into a giant Eye of the Eagle!

She gasps in surprise as the Eye breaks apart into dozens of smaller versions of itself, becoming more corporeal and more actual  _ eagles _ with fierce blue eyes. The eagles caw in unison before diving on the hapless snakes below them.

Blaise looks at her, mouth agape, and slowly lowers his wand. She shrugs at him, at a loss for what to do, as the battle between...magic glowy snakes and magic glowy miniature eagles ensues.

“I…” she continues to gape. “What the  _ hell _ is going on?”

Blaise looks worried. “Is this a joke? Someone’s - messing with us right? What the  _ fuck- _ ”

She sighs and turns to him authoritatively. “Might be serious. You go get McGonagall? I’ll send up the curfew alarm and try to get the students back to the common rooms - hopefully not bitten by any snakes or swooped up into a damned eagle’s nest.” She glances around and sees Malfoy still next to her looking troubled, if a tad surprised as well. “Malfoy - gather the prefects and help me evacuate the students.  _ Now _ .”

Malfoy frowns at her for a moment before nodding and shuffling off with a sarcastic salute and a “Yes Ma’am.”

Before she can roll her eyes at him, an eagle flies up in front of her, glowy snake in its beak, and she shudders.

The eagles might just be some clever fireworks, she tells herself. Someone ordered them from Fred and George, probably. And the snakes - they’re just illusions, probably. Nothing dark magicky at all.

She quickly casts the curfew spell, sounding the alarm to ensure all students return to their rooms and stay there.

The eagle snaps its strong, hooked beak and the snake’s head falls to the ground in a gush of glowing red blood.


	10. Chapter 10

She thinks for a moment that Professor McGonagall might be able to bend the fabric of time with the power of her intense glare, and they’ll be able to go back in time to the moment before the appearance of ghostly animals during the Halloween party and figure out  _ what the hell _ happened.

There are a few stragglers still in the room - she and Blaise had identified a few students who had been near the snakes when they appeared initially, and McGonagall’s intent was to interview them before sending them to their respective dormitories.

She closes her eyes tiredly and tries to mentally reconstruct what had happened.

-Walking with Blaise, heard Lavender’s scream   
-Lavender and Ron were...together when it happened   
-Others who were nearby: Seamus, Ginny, Michael (with some of the other Ravenclaw boys - Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein - a connection to the eagles, maybe?), Malfoy (of course)   
-The snakes had seemingly materialized out of thin air, and were glowing but alive   
-The Eagle Eye had appeared directly above the pile of snakes as some sort of charm before turning into...tiny glowing eagles? Which then fought the snakes?   


She sighs. If this was a prank of some sort, it was absolutely ridiculous. Thankfully no one was injured (except for many of the snakes, and a handful of unlucky eagles who got strangled by said snakes).

Snakes versus Eagles - why no Lions? Or Badgers? Was this reflective of some newly intense rivalry between Slytherins and Ravenclaws? She is almost offended that the Slytherins felt the need to go find a new rival, and her mind races for a way to send a glowing lion belatedly rampaging through the school hallways. It was all rather clever magic, at any rate.

Had someone from Slytherin summoned the snakes, and then someone completely different had summoned the eagles to...fight the snakes? Had one person masterminded the entire incident?

She frowns and prepares to investigate, but she can’t help but think that especially when compared to Dark Mark graffiti, this all feels a little foolish.

“Mr. Finnigan,” gasps McGonagall when she notices his disheveled appearance, bloodshot eyes, and vomit stains down his shirt. “Are you hurt?”

Seamus looks excessively nervous. And quite red. Red enough to have likely tossed back a pepper-up potion not too long ago. “I’m all right, Professor,” he insists with a tired smile. “Just - ah, you know, got a little scared. I hate snakes, see?”

McGonagall raises a dubious eyebrow at him. “How very Gryffindor of you, Mr. Finnigan. Tell me, did you see anything suspicious?”

“No ma’am, nothing at all,” Seamus responds enthusiastically, and Hermione is quite sure the lad had been far too out of it to have noticed anything.

“Very well. Ten points from Gryffindor for excessive drunkenness on Hogwarts grounds, Mr. Finnigan. You may return to your room.”

Seamus groans and sulks away. Hermione almost laughs - the faculty is generally somewhat lenient of the occasional tipsy student blowing off some steam, and only ten points for Seamus’ continual excesses is actually quite generous.

The next interview proceeds in an equally unhelpful manner.

“Of  _ course _ we didn’t see anything,” insists Lavender, aghast. “We had our  _ eyes _ closed!”

Ron turns bright crimson and stares at his feet. Lavender, while obviously somewhat shaken by the incident, still manages to smile smugly in Hermione’s direction.

“We just, ah, turned around and there were all the snakes,” offers Ron lamely. “And - well, Lav was scared and sort of jumped, and - well I had to catch her, didn’t I? Of course, I couldn’t get to my wand to help, on account of...you know, having my arms full, but-”

“He  _ saved _ me,” swoons Lavender.

Ron’s blush deepens and he refuses to make eye contact with anyone.

Hermione makes a mental note to smack Harry later. Ron loves her, indeed! Snogging other women is certainly one tried and true method of proving something like that!

After the two were dismissed (with Ron staring down at his feet the entire time), it was Malfoy’s turn. To Hermione’s slight annoyance, McGonagall was immediately more suspicious in tone when questioning him than during the previous interactions.

“I heard a scream and ran over to see what was going on,” Malfoy says with a bored shrug. “I’m sure Granger has already built the gallows for me, however?”

She glares at him for a moment before turning back to McGonagall. “I saw Mr. Malfoy a few minutes before the incident. He was on the other side of the room, and as he said, came over from that direction. Furthermore, he helped me gather the remaining prefects to assist.”

Malfoy narrows his eyes at her, as does Professor McGonagall.

“I’m glad to hear that. Very well, Mr. Malfoy - if you’ve nothing else to add, you may return to the dungeons.”

His eyes linger on hers for a moment before he departs, but if he has something to say he keeps it to himself.

Ginny and the Ravenclaw boys are almost as unhelpful as everyone else.

“We were just having a chat,” Ginny offers with a helpless shrug. “And suddenly those snakes appeared right by us. It was so strange!”

“I didn’t notice anything either,” agrees Michael with a calm demeanor. “Sorry - wish I could help. Those snakes appeared, and then the eagles a moment later.”

“And then the eagles started chomping on the snakes,” giggles Terry Boot.

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him, but he had been standing around with Ginny. Surely Ginny would have noticed if he had, say, taken out his wand and conjured up a zoo into the middle of the room.

She sighs deeply after the final interview and turns to McGonagall and Blaise.

“We might’ve tried to use veritaserum,” Blaise protests grumpily.

The Professor regards them both seriously. “If a serious crime had been committed, then the answer would still be no to that idea, Mr. Zabini. It is my opinion that this incident was a rather poorly thought-out prank.”

She and Blaise nod in agreement.

“However,” McGonagall continues. “Given the seriousness of the Dark Mark incident at the beginning of the year, I would like to be cautious. The next suspicious event that occurs, prank or not, I will be calling in the aurors to investigate.”

She levels Hermione with a hard stare, implying the serious nature of that comment. If the aurors are called to Hogwarts, it means that there will be fewer available to challenge the Dark Lord.

Hermione nods hesitantly, agreeing with Blaise that they will monitor the situation closely, particularly with the inter-house quidditch games starting the following week.

She sighs tiredly on her way back to the Gryffindor tower, ready for the comfort of her bed and a solid night’s sleep.

What she is  _ not _ prepared for, however, is Draco Malfoy grabbing her by the arm and yanking her into a nearby classroom.

“What-!” she whips her wand out and glares at him, and he releases her wrist immediately, holding his arms up innocently.

“Hold your hippogriffs, Granger - I just want to chat.”

“About  _ what _ ?” she seethes, though he does seem to be peaceful, so she tentatively lowers her wand. “You should be in the dungeons, Malfoy - you’re violating curfew.”

“Look - tell me what you found out?”

She frowns at that. The nerve of him! “As if I’d tell you!”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Those eagles - that stupid eye of the eagle nonsense. That was complex magic, Granger, you know that. And it’s escalating. We both know what that means, don’t we?”

“I’ve no idea what you mean. Go to the dungeons, Malfoy.”

Her thoughts are whirling, and of course he makes no attempt to leave. 

“Someone drew the symbol in your book, I saw it,” he insists. “They have you in mind for something.”

She hesitates for a moment. She has been wondering what the symbol in her book had been intended for, what the purpose was, but she has been wondering that about a lot of things lately.

“Did they-” he hesitates, eyes narrowing at her. “They’re recruiting you or something, aren’t they? What do you  _ know _ ?”

Her jaw drops and she gapes at him. “What -  _ you’re _ suspicious of  _ me _ ? Come off it, Malfoy! I told McGonagall the truth about you not being a part of this incident, but I didn’t tell her anything else about what you were up to.”

“What I was up to!” He takes a step closer as he stares at her incredulously. “Besides helping you solve your stupid hair issues and stopping those pranks? Or did you accidentally start to believe all those rumors about us, hmm?”

“Don’t be daft! I  _ saw _ you at the party, Malfoy. Don’t tell me it was just a coincidence that you and Goyle were having a friendly chat at the same time his counterpart came over to insult and threaten me.”

His eyes glint and narrow. He takes a step closer and she immediately lifts her wand back up and points it at his chest. Not seeming to take her seriously, he takes yet another step forward until her wand is pressed against him, probably so he can glower over her intimidatingly. “What did Vince say to you?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, like you don’t know?” she huffs. “Will it make you happy to hear it from me?  _ Fine.  _ He insulted me in every which way, from my blood to my promiscuity, and spat in my drink. Pansy Parkinson intervened on my behalf, of all people.”

He seems to hesitate for a moment, looking down at her intensely. “I - didn’t send him over,” he frowns awkwardly. 

Even stranger, he slowly sort of lifts his hand as if to try and take a hold of her wandless one.

She rolls her eyes and slaps his hand away, shoving her wand a little more heavily into his chest. He looks somewhat surprised at her maneuver. He really is - tall, isn’t he? It is quite annoying. And too close - the intensely spicy smell of his cologne is nearly oppressive. “Of course you didn’t. I was practically cornered by those idiots, but you didn’t send them over. You had nothing to do with it, did you? And you had nothing to do with the Dark Mark, or the pranks, or the notes, or the  _ rumors _ . You’re just a picture of innocence, Malfoy. I’m sure there’s  _ nothing _ you’re not telling me.”

He grimaces and his jaw clenches and she watches him closely. “I…” he hesitates again.

She sighs, frustrated as ever with his caginess. She lowers her wand dramatically. “That’s what I thought. Just go, Malfoy.”

“Granger - fine, don’t tell me about that eagle bullshit. Tell them I’ll find out eventually, you can take that seriously. And - for what it’s worth, I’d recommend staying away from Vince and them.”

She huffs loudly, deeply annoyed and equally flummoxed. Pansy had suggested the same thing, and she is sure that these Slytherins are the most frustrating people to ever exist. “Why should I?”

He shrugs, looking tense. “They - well, they don’t like you very much.”

She frowns and raises a hand to her pinched forehead. “What, and you do? Right. Well, thanks ever so for your help, Malfoy. As always, it has been vague and borderline useless.”

She storms out of the classroom, leaving him in frustrated silence, and she  _ knows _ there is more that he can tell her, but he is holding something back. Could Crabbe really be dangerous enough to have warranted such a warning? There has to be something else, but she thinks she may have better luck learning it from a damned oneiromancer than expecting him to tell her!

The entire conversation had been an exercise in pointlessness.

And  _ why _ did he nearly try to take hold of her hand? What was that! Probably trying to make her even more uncomfortable, the stupid boy!

Harry is the only one waiting for her in the common room when she returns.

“Learn anything?” he asks quietly, eyes still a little red after likely requiring a pepper-up potion himself from trying to hold his own with Seamus.

“Nothing at all,” she huffs, thinking of her fruitless conversation with Malfoy.

“Ginny - she was okay, right?”

“Did she not come back here?”

“Well, she did, yeah, but she didn’t really want to speak with me.”

She sighs. “She had been chatting with Michael and a few of the Ravenclaw boys when it happened. She’s fine.”

Harry looks a little disconcerted. “Well. Good, then, that she’s okay. Ravenclaws, huh - think they did this?”

She shrugs, exhausted. “I don’t know Harry. Terry seemed a little suspicious, maybe, but I don’t know. McGonagall is treating it as a prank - and, frankly, I agree. This has been a lot of stress over something incredibly stupid.”

Harry peers at her closely. “I’m not sure I agree with you, Hermione. The snakes, the eagles...they are symbols, sure, but we know how important symbols can be to people, don’t we? It might’ve been a prank, but what if it was something more?”

She sighs heavily, thinking that Malfoy had been implying much the same thing. Really not wanting to dwell on it any longer, she bids him good night and hopes that he’s wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains a non-consensual kissing sequence, please proceed with caution if that's a concern!

Hermione stares at her list and sighs deeply.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Put on a happy face and cheer during the first quidditch match of the year: mandatory  
-Investigate...everything, there are too many things: in progress  
-Ignore Malfoy until he decides to actually be helpful for once: in progress  


She takes a sip of tea, regretfully thinking maybe she should ice it. Even though the weather is starting to turn, it is actually a little too warm in the library as she waits for the capstone group to arrive. They had agreed on a quick touch point before the match to confirm the research plan for the rest of the week. And of course, she had been in the library since the crack of dawn to account for the missed study time during the match and potential celebration afterwards.

She notices her heart thudding fairly quickly in her chest - maybe she  _ should _ go out with the boys for a drink later. It’s hardly even November but has been quite a stressful year, what with the capstone project on top of regular homework. Not to mention NEWTs. And the pranks. And the Dark Mark. And the assault on her character. And she had hardly gotten to relax for a moment at the Halloween party.

She glances up as Malfoy walks in early for once, donning his green quidditch robes. She notes that he actually fills out his uniform quite nicely for someone so tall and lanky. His shoulders look quite a bit broader in the tightly fitting uniform than compared to in his normal bulkier school robes.

“Granger,” he greets with a sullen expression on his face, and his voice seems a little deeper and more musical than usual.

She regards him for a moment. He really is a rather attractive boy, isn’t he? Has she ever noticed that before? He is quite tall and fit looking, probably thanks to all the quidditch training. His hair is always perfectly coiffed (in contrast to her own perfect disaster). She would bet that he spends an inordinate amount of money on haircuts.

She takes a deep breath and notes that he  _ smells _ rather nice too. A hint of ginger and cedar, spicy and woodsy, with notes of other pleasant things. Nutmeg maybe, and just a touch of mint.

His eyes - how has she never noticed how striking they are before? Deeply gray, the color of the sky just before a storm, with subtle specks of gold sprinkled through his irises, they are really rather haunting. All angles, his nose is sharp and cheekbones are defined. He has a strong jaw which might make him look a little haughty, but his lips - they look so  _ soft _ , and-

Malfoy clears his throat and raises a suspicious, perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her.

Her reverie slams to a halt and she immediately stills, assessing herself. Lists are good, she should make a list:

-Feeling warm  
-Heart beating faster than usual  
-Thinking a boy has a ‘musical’ speaking voice  
_ -Sniffing  _ a boy and analyzing the notes in his cologne  
-Almost obsessively noting attractive qualities in a boy  
-A boy who she  _ hates, _ but really, he’s been almost rather sweet lately, relatively speaking, hasn’t he? He did try to hold her hand the other day, after all, didn’t he? And those  _ eyes _ -

_ "Shit _ ," she mutters, trying desperately to tear her eyes away from his beautifully angled face. 

A love potion. It has to be, particularly when the only other option is that he looks so good in his quidditch uniform that it has caused a temporary lapse in her sanity. He must have spiked her tea. Or - he only just arrived though, maybe someone else did? But who-

She tries to find an answer in his face, but realizes she is staring intensely again and wrenches her gaze back down to the table. But maybe she’ll be able to tell if it was him from his eyes - they look so thoughtful, and-

_ Gah, stop staring at him, you twit! _ She desperately wrenches her eyes away again.

His eyes narrow in concern (for  _ her! _ ), or maybe, more likely, suspicion, particularly after their odd conversation in the dark classroom (so very alone in the dark) after the Halloween party.  _ “What _ is wrong with you, Granger?”

He  _ is  _ concerned for her! She can feel her heart swoon while her brain tries to yell at her heart to stop being such an idiot.

“I - no, I - I’m sorry, I have to -”

His palm is resting on the table and she really wants to hold his hand. His hand had felt so soft when she had slapped it away the previous week. His fingers are quite long and almost delicate looking. But still  _ strong _ , and oh goodness, she can hardly  _ breathe _ .

“I have to go,” she gasps, hot and shivering. “Can you - I have to - please apologize to the group for me, I have to go-”

She is  _ sweating _ but she throws her notes into her bag and actually sprints out of the library, nearly bowling over Michael and then Hannah not far behind him on her way out. She ignores their tentative inquiries and rushes to the nearest bathroom.

She glances at herself in the mirror. Sweaty, flushed, and hair as crazy as ever. She looks like a mess. Bracing herself against the sink, she takes a few deep breaths before splashing cold water on her face.

She is a smart girl, isn’t she? She can figure out how to deal with this.

Weasleys! The Weasley twins were always messing with love potion formulas. Rather evil of them, she decides, and she must convince them to cease the practice immediately. Administering a nonconsensual love potion should be a crime punishable by death, it absolutely should! But in the meantime, maybe Ginny or Ron would have an antidote? Ideally Ginny, as she certainly doesn’t need Ron deciding to go punch Malfoy to defend her honor or some such manly rubbish.

She sprints to Gryffindor tower as fast as she can.

She tries to remember everything she has ever learned about love potions. Her heart is still thudding heavily in her chest, but it seems proximity is a factor here. Without Malfoy in her immediate presence, she can almost breathe steadily and actually think for a moment.

She glances around the common room and groans - Harry, Ron, and Ginny likely were already on their way to the pitch. She  _ has _ to find them, but - she really can’t risk being alone and running into the object of her manufactured affection, can she? 

She debates the merits of skipping the game entirely, but Professor McGonagall had specifically encouraged her to attend all the matches this year. She notices Neville coming down from the boys dormitory and immediately offers to accompany him to the game. He smiles politely and agrees, and she sighs in relief. At the risk of initiating a new slew of rumors, she decides Neville will make as good a guardian as any - though she doesn’t feel inclined to tell him that he is guarding her at all.

_ Malfoy _ . Could he have really done it?  _ Roofied _ her in the school library? Who would ever do such a thing?

There are different classifications of love potions.

“How’s the capstone project been working for you, Hermione?” Neville asks.

There is Amortentia of course, the most powerful potion. This is certainly not that. Amortentia takes on the aroma of whatever the subject is attracted to. Her tea had smelled just like regular old tea. She quite likes tea, but not like  _ that _ .

“Fine,” she answers noncommittally.

She believes the Beguiling Bubbles cause an intense infatuation with the potion-giver. Could be that, if Malfoy is indeed the one who spiked her tea.

“You’re with Malfoy, right? And - Hannah?” Neville blushes lightly. “We’re partnered for herbology this year. She actually helped me harvest some sneezewort for my capstone. I’ve got Tracey Davis, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Lisa Turpin. They’re all right, I suppose, just none with a knack for sneezewort harvesting.”

Twilight Moonbeam - is that the one that causes a ‘love at first sight’ sort of reaction? Also a possibility. Shouldn’t last longer than a couple days, but -

“Oh? Yes, Malfoy. Malfoy is on my team. Oh - and yes, Hannah too, of course, is on my team. With Malfoy.”

It must have happened this morning in the library. Possibly when she went to the loo? Or, could she have been studying intensely enough that she just didn’t notice someone walk by and  _ roofie _ her tea? The entire school knows she spends Saturdays in the library - it could quite literally have been  _ anybody _ .

“You okay there Hermione? You seem a bit out of sorts. Worried about the game?” Neville asks good naturedly.

“Yes,” she responds quickly. “That’s it. Quite nervous.”

“Well, don’t worry about it,” Neville grins. “Gryffindor is odds on favorites to win the cup this year. Slytherin - well, Malfoy’s a good seeker, so anything can happen, but overall they’re pretty lousy. A lot of younger sorts on their team this year.”

She shivers lightly. Of  _ course _ he’s a good seeker, she wants to say. Have you seen his  _ hands _ ? Strong but with a gentle touch, perfect for catching a snitch. Perfect for, maybe, other things -

She shakes her head violently.  _ Bad brain! _ she tells herself.  _ You’re supposed to be on my side! _

Neville watches her with curiosity waiting for a response, and politely doesn’t comment on the fact that she is acting rather out of sorts.

“That’s - comforting to hear,” she tries. “Thanks Neville.”

“Of course.”

They walk over to the Gryffindor section together and she glances around the stadium. The teams haven’t come out yet-

_ Where is he, I want to see him! _

Gazing about, she notices Marcus Flint sitting in the Slytherin section, attending as he had promised he would. As if she doesn’t have enough problems to deal with at the moment!

“Ugh,” she mumbles to herself when he catches her eye and smirks. What a creepy fellow.

“Oy, Hermione!” calls Seamus from the nearby bench. “Dating Nev now, are ya? When’s it gonna be  _ my _ turn, luv?”

“It’s almost your turn for a stinging jinx to your most private bits, you git,” she snaps while poor Neville blushes.

“Kinky,” grins Seamus with a playful wink. “Oh come on now, I’m just joking, come sit by us.”

She sighs, really not in the mood for dealing with any boys today-

_ Except for one particular boy- _

So she and Neville take a seat and wait while she tries to steady her breathing.

“You  _ do _ know I was joking, yeah?” Seamus asks a little more quietly when she is seated. “I mean to say, you know none of us actually believe that rubbish they’re saying about you.”

She sighs deeply and wishes he would have mentioned that earlier. And louder. And maybe in front of their schoolmates. And not been watching her with a funny glint in his eyes that indicates he absolutely believes what they’re saying about her. “I know - thanks Seamus. All good.”

“Besides - we all know I’m the best looking bloke in Gryffindor, you’d have been sure to come after me first!” He grins and gives her a little side-hug before they all look back to the pitch (and she just  _ knows _ by tomorrow they’ll be saying she gave Seamus a blowjob during the game as a warm-up for her post-game gang bang with the Gryffindor team).

She groans internally but plasters a smile on her face.

“Hey- libations?” grins a clearly already-tipsy Seamus, offering her a small flask. “Or - wait, you won’t deduct points from me, will you, Head Girl? After losing ten for simply being tipsy last week, it’d be a right shame to lose more while I’m still completely sober! Which I am!”

She sighs, accepting his offer and taking a small sip of firewhiskey, much to Seamus’ delight. Her nerves are already on their last gasp, she thinks maybe a small amount of alcohol will help her relax, at least. She shudders as the firewhiskey burns on it’s way down, and she shudders again as the teams fly out and she is instantly distracted and on edge when she sees  _ him _ .

His hair is gently flowing in the wind, robes billowing behind him as he flies out onto the pitch in a flourish. He sits calmly and confidently on his broom. The team captain, he is quite authoritative, barking orders to his teammates and pointing confidently in various directions.

She hardly knows whether the game has started already as she only has eyes for Malfoy zipping around on his broom.

She hates flying - largely because of that awful feeling of rapidly descending. It reminds her of the roller coasters she used to hate so much when her parents would bring her to the amusement park.

Watching Malfoy soar so elegantly through the air, however, she feels it as a thrill, like she is just at the very top of a roller coaster just waiting to make the plunge.

He spins to the left and her stomach clenches. He dives down low to the ground and her heart drops. He gets grazed by a bludger and she  _ gasps _ . 

Of course, rationally, she knows she is rooting for Harry to catch the snitch, but she can barely bring herself to even look at him or Ron or Ginny, she is too focused on  _ him _ .

At one point, after a near collision with Harry and the escape of the snitch just in front of the Gryffindor cheering section, he  _ looks at her _ and a shiver courses through her body.

She practically wrenches Seamus’s flask from his hands and takes another gulp of firewhiskey, much to the boy’s whooping delight.

In the end, as always, it comes down to a neck and neck race for the snitch between Harry and Malfoy. Malfoy may have been about an inch or two ahead, but then-

One of the Slytherin beaters - Crabbe, maybe - enthusiastically sends a bludger their way and it crashes into Malfoy’s ribs. She can  _ feel _ it and she can  _ hear _ him groan as he falls off his broom and rolls onto the grass. Her heart goes with him, and-

Meanwhile, the stadium around her explodes with cheers.

Seamus cheers, jumping up and punching her enthusiastically on the arm.

“Told you they were awful,” laughs Neville with a whoop.

“Malfoy got knocked out by his own beater!” giggles Dean.

She truly almost wants to cry, but is heartened when she sees Malfoy leap back up to his feet, arm wrapped heavily around his chest, in order to chew out his scowling housemate who had caused this fiasco. 

He really has a  _ commanding _ presence-

“Oy Hermione,” shouts Seamus above the cheering. “We told Harry and them we’d meet up at the Three Broomsticks for a few. Coming with?”

_ “Yes,” _ she enthuses, desperately ready to have a proper drink and to stop studying how Malfoy’s bicep flexes when he points and to corner Ginny for some help with this love potion crisis.

She sees Flint chatting with Pansy and Blaise on their way out of the stadium, and when he catches her eye she shudders for a moment.

The group ends up being herself, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Lavender. They make their way to the Three Broomsticks and snag one of the larger wooden tables in the back.

Lavender smiles sickeningly sweetly at her, and Seamus glances dramatically back and forth between the two women as though he is waiting for a girl fight to break out at any moment.

As Madam Rosmerta approaches to take their orders, however, he immediately becomes distracted.

“Gryffindor won the game, eh? Well, you lot do me a favor while you’re celebrating - don’t be picking fights with any Slytherins who come in for their conciliatory drinks, hear me?”

“Of course, Madam Rosmerta,” Seamus enthuses, managing to heroically withstand a kick from Dean underneath the table. “We  _ oath _ it!”

She ignores Seamus and thinks desperately that she should have thought her plan through more thoroughly - what if the Slytherins come in at some point and -

She shudders and hopes that they go to the Hog’s Head instead, which seems more the Slytherin style. Rather than sipping at her butterbeer, she takes a few nervous gulps. She is already a little tipsy, and thinks that it might be helping with her poor, tattered nerves somewhat.

“All right there, Hermione?” asks Lavender with a light smile, eyeing the rapidly emptying butterbeer glass curiously. “You’re looking a little - flushed.”

“Quite fine Lavender, thank you,” she replies curtly. 

“I saw that  _ Draco _ took quite a hit there at the end of the game.”

Her breath hitches at the mention of his name. 

“Oh? I hadn’t noticed.” She tries to be casual. How does one act casual? She can’t exactly recall. Something about leaning back in her chair, perhaps?

“It was  _ hilarious _ ,” enthuses Seamus. “That gitty git got what was coming to him!”

“I rather thought you might be a little worried,” Lavender insists. “You know, since you two are so close this year.”

She rolls her eyes and continues to drink, ready for Harry and the team to arrive already and absolutely unwilling to acknowledge Lavender’s accurate assessment of the situation.

“Bah,” laughs Seamus. “Hermione would never betray us like that. Yeah Hermione?”

“Well, I’d say that it’s nobody’s business who I’m involved with,” she snits, but watching poor Seamus wilt doesn’t feel like the right thing to allow. “But - that’s right. No Slytherins for me, thank you.”

“Gryffindor, through and through!” cheers Dean.

“Poor Ron would have a conniption if it were true,” Seamus giggles, looking pointedly at Lavender with a conniving grin.

Lavender glares at Seamus for a moment, but turns back to Hermione with a little smirk on her face which makes Hermione distinctly annoyed. That smirk was almost unsettling. Something about Ron? Or had her dear, sweet roommate had something to do with the love potion? Not likely, she thinks, but certainly not impossible.

“Hah,” Seamus continues. “Speaking of Slytherins - look who just walked in. I know we promised Madam R no fighting, but I always thought that Flint git was in need of a good thrashing.”

She glances behind her briefly to see Flint walking in, along with Blaise, Pansy, Daphne, and one of the boys who had helped trap her at the Halloween party, Harper.

No no no no, if the Slytherins are here, then what if - 

What if  _ he _ meets them here? Hopefully he’ll decide to be antisocial and just stay far away.

“Ugh, how awful,” she complains, feeling a little more comfortable after fairly chugging her butterbeer. Realizing she said it aloud and her friends are looking for a follow up, she adds: “Maybe Madam R will make an exception for Flint?”

Seamus giggles around his firewhiskey and she explains to the group, minus some of the more creepy details, about how off-putting the interview with Flint had been.

“Thought you wanted an autograph!” laughs Dean.

“Hannah was there too?” asks Neville bashfully.

She laughs a little as Seamus and Dean launch into a bit playacting how Flint might’ve acted during the interview (“Tell me about your academic successes,” asks Dean in a very serious, high-pitched Hermione-voice, to which Seamus haughtily replies “I’m such a pureblooded inbred genius that they asked me to stay at Hogwarts for an extra year instead of graduating on time!”).

She risks a glance at the Slytherin table and sees the group of them taking shots of firewhiskey together. Well, perhaps Flint had taken Pansy’s for her, it’s hard to tell - and she feels a little affected herself, what with having partaken in Seamus’s flask during the match. She watches them warily for a moment and weighs the pros and cons of just going back to Hogwarts early.

There’s a pro and a con that she might run into Malfoy on the way back.

The Gryffindors order another round before the boys finally arrive - just Harry and Ron, with Ginny having begged off, to Hermione’s immense disappointment. But - she is sure that she can make it through the night and catch Ginny at the dorms.

The boys exchange high-fives and back slaps all around the table, while shooting glares towards the table of Slytherins.

“Good show today, Ron,” Lavender simpers, practically batting her eyelashes at the boy. “We all jumped out of our seats when you stopped Baddock’s shot!”

Ron beams and puffs his chest out.

Hermione drinks just a bit more butterbeer (which, once again, Seamus acknowledges with an encouraging cheer). It’s not that she’d prefer to have Ron beaming and puffing at  _ her _ , but - Lavender? The girl had absolutely started the false rumor about her and Malfoy, which then ballooned into the situation she finds herself in now.

She congratulates the boys on a game well played, and Harry pops into the seat next to her with a grin, hair disheveled as ever. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, and she knows exactly why.

“Any progress there?” she murmurs with a jerk of her head towards Pansy.

“Not yet,” he groans, wistfully looking back. “But no Slytherins have threatened to beat me up this week, so that’s a good sign, right? Unless they’re  _ waiting _ , like those snakes from the party,” he laughs.

“Have you given any thought to what I said? About Ginny?” she asks in a low voice.

“Well, I’ve beaten myself up a bit for not dancing with her, sure. But...well. Have  _ you _ given any thought to what I said about Ron?”

She glares at him. “You realize that not less than an hour after you confessed Ron’s love for me on his behalf, he was snogging Lavender in the middle of that stupid party.”

“Hey now, I never said he wasn’t a wanker, but he really - er, looks like we might have some trouble, look who just walked in.”

She doesn’t need to turn around - her heart  _ slams _ in her chest, and dammit, this is some powerful kind of love potion. She forces herself to stay seated and just try to breathe even though every single part of her is urging her to turn around and drink him in.

“He brought his bodyguards too,” growls Ron. 

Crabbe and Goyle? How awful. She hadn’t even mentioned Crabbe’s indecent approach from the Halloween party to Ron and Harry, else she expects a fight would have broken out already.

She frowns, remembering her compiled notes on Malfoy from the other day. They haven’t been ‘his bodyguards’ for quite some time, despite the fact that she had seen the lot of them together at the Halloween party. And honestly, he had seemed almost concerned about her interaction with Crabbe, hadn’t he? Maybe she should just turn around and take a peek-

He looks so beautiful that she wants to cry. A slight cut across his face on his left cheek, he already has a drink in hand and is watching the room cautiously, not seeming too invested in whatever conversation his ‘friends’ are having.

Crabbe, Goyle and Harper are glaring at the Gryffindor table as a whole, not particularly singling her out for their withering stares. Pansy looks beautiful and bored, as does Blaise. Flint looks - well, creepy and a little drunk. Daphne looks like - she might be interested in Flint, maybe? Ugh.

But her eyes keep getting drawn back to Malfoy.

_ Please look at me, please _ -

He doesn’t and she shakes her head to try and get rid of her ridiculous thoughts. She is either far too drunk for this or not  _ nearly  _ drunk enough for this. When she turns back to the table, Lavender of all people is watching her closely with a sly smile.

She sighs and excuses herself, practically bowling over a standing Dean on her way down the hallway to the loo, which she finds blissfully empty.

She shuts the door in a frenzy and tries to take a deep breath. Her chest is  _ aching _ . She gazes at her reflection in the mirror. She looks - well, not great, but somewhat less hideous than she had been expecting based on her crazed mental state. A little sweaty, but it’s warm in the bar, and half the boys are still gross from quidditch. A little flushed, but the color in her cheeks looks not half-bad.

“You are an  _ idiot _ ,” she whispers to herself. “You need to get out of here. Let’s go back to Hogwarts, find Ginny and figure out how to fix this.”

Her mouth is dry and with Malfoy so close now the alcohol seems less effective at calming her nerves. She feels extremely frazzled, but maybe if she can make an escape now, nobody will ever have to know about this embarrassing ordeal. She splashes some cold water on her face and walks out the door, ready to say her farewells and leave.

She nearly crashes into a waiting Marcus Flint.

“Excuse me,” she mutters, looking to move around him.

“Hey, hey now,” he replies almost softly, slurring his words just enough to let her know he has had a few and he moves to block her way. “Where are you off to in such a rush?”

“ _ Excuse me _ , Marcus,” she insists a little more sternly, eyeing him cautiously and slowly moving her hand towards her wand. She has had quite enough of tall Slytherins blocking her escape paths lately.

He smiles sneeringly and glances around the hallway. “You know,” he drawls. “I’ve been wondering when I’d be able to get you alone.”

Before she can respond, he grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her into the men’s room with him. She  _ gasps _ as he throws her back against the wall, grasping her wrists and holding them tightly before she can secure her wand.

She opens her mouth to cry out - her wrists hurt, he is  _ strong _ \- but he leans in and  _ kisses _ her before she can -

She shudders in revulsion as he shoves his tongue into her mouth and begins exploring. She can  _ taste _ the firewhiskey on his breath and his stubble scratches lightly against her cheeks.

She shifts her weight and tries to stick her knee somewhere painful, but he is too quick and  _ too strong _ and he presses his hips into her, and - oh  _ god _ she can feel him pressing hard against her, and -

He pulls away to take a deep breath and clasps a large hand over her mouth heavily before she can scream. “Playing hard to get, hmm?” he whispers in her ear. “They told me what a filthy  _ slag _ you’ve become. Don’t pretend you don’t want this, you little  _ Mudblood whore _ .”

When he removes his hand she lets out a strangled “No-!” before his mouth is on hers again, and she can feel tears running down her face as she tries to free her wrists, but he is  _ pawing _ at her breast and starting to move his hands lower and-

He is suddenly being forcibly thrown back, lips wrenched from her with a wet smack, and she gasps for air. She looks around wildly in an absolute panic when she sees him-

_ Draco _ .

He steps forward towards Flint with a menacing glare on his beautiful face and she didn’t think it was possible for her heart to thud any harder in her chest.

“Oy, what the hell Malfoy?”

“The  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Draco growls violently, rearing back.

She whimpers and not even the effects of the love potion can keep her in that room any longer. She spins on her heels and tumbles out of the room, hearing a satisfying crunch of what she assumes is Draco’s fist connecting with Flint’s face and his subsequent grunt from behind her.

Running down the hallway, she pauses and attempts to steady herself, trying to remember what her plan had been. She - she should leave, right? Yes - a quick farewell and a jaunt back to Hogwarts. Fresh air would maybe do her good, yes?

She tries to straighten her robes the best she can before going back to the table, but the sounds of fighting behind her must have attracted attention, and-

Harry and Ron are in front of her in moments, taking in her frightened, disheveled and tear-stained appearance.

“Merlin’s beard, what happened??” Harry asks, astounded.

“I - nothing, I’m just going back to the castle, ok?”

“Hermione-” Harry starts to insist, but cuts himself off and glares at the space behind her. She feels her stomach sink.

She can sense the tension in the room and sees the boys from both Gryffindor and Slytherin tables slowly get to their feet.

Draco comes out from the hallway - equally disheveled, clenching and unclenching his hand.

Her eyes grow wide as the scene plays out inexorably in front of her.

“It wasn’t him-” she starts to say, but before she can clarify, Ronald Bilius Weasley, one of her oldest friends who apparently is quite in love with her, walks right up to Draco and punches him square on the jaw.

Everything freezes for a moment and she watches as if in slow motion.

Ron’s face is full of rage. Harry too, but he moves to hold Ron back from leaping in to hit Draco again.

Draco collapses in a heap on the ground.

Seamus jumps up and glares at the table of Slytherins, including the ever burly Crabbe and Goyle and their equally burly new tagalong, Harper. “FIIIIGHT!!!!” screeches Seamus loudly, and together he, Neville, and Dean charge towards the Slytherin beaters.

“Oh  _ god _ -” she cries and crouches down to check on Draco as Ron and Harry get dragged into the scrum.

“Are you - Draco, are you hurt?” she whispers, heart focused on him and only him despite the sounds of fighting behind her and if he’s hurt then it’s  _ her _ fault and-

He grunts, but eyes her suspiciously and starts to stand. “Stay back, Granger. Was that -  _ fucking Weasley-!!” _

He shoves past her towards the larger group.

“No, wait-” she gasps and tries to follow, but he is  _ quick _ and tall and takes huge steps. She glances around quickly - Goyle punches Dean heavily in the stomach and Dean crumbles. Seamus jumps up on top of Crabbe’s back with a yelp. Neville rushes forward, head down, to tackle Crabbe while he’s distracted, and Harry and Ron rush into the scrum to avenge Dean.

No wands have been drawn yet, with the boys preferring to beat each other the old fashioned way.

She rushes up besides Pansy and a screeching Lavender kneeling behind a suddenly overturned table.

“What in Salazar’s name were you up to in the loo, Granger?” asks an equal-parts furious and amused Pansy Parkinson.

“I wasn’t - this is  _ not _ my fault,” she insists as a bottle shatters above their heads.

She watches Pansy take out her wand, and she follows suit.

“Sure,” scoffs Pansy, gesturing wildly to the brawl. “You  _ really  _ think none of this display of manliness is meant to impress you?”

“Oy, Weasley!” she hears from somewhere to her left and she knows that Malfoy is about to get himself some revenge and she quivers, but forces herself to calm down.

She sees Crabbe fling Seamus to the ground and punch Neville hard in the face and watches the boy buckle.

She hears a cry that sounds like Ron squealing in pain.

She looks up and sees Blaise, her fellow Head, trying to calm down the much larger Crabbe. She figures the least she can do is the same, and rushes forward with a hastily cast shielding charm to aid Dean, wounded but  _ scrappy _ and getting to his feet to continue the fight. 

She hears Pansy cast a  _ protego  _ spell somewhere behind her and hears a chair smash into a wall nearby and-

She tosses a quick leg-locker curse at Goyle before he can bring his fists down on Harry on her way towards the boys and barely glances back to confirm its success.

Seamus has a cut above his head, blinking blood out of eyes as he is shouting and pointing aggressively towards Crabbe, and she is shoving at his chest pushing him back and preparing to petrify the entire sodding group and suddenly-

She feels an explosion of pain in the back of her head and everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of my favorite chapters to write because Hermione gets to kind of be a bit of a mess. If you're reading along, thanks for doing so, hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is a scene of a sexual nature in this chapter.

‘DRACO,’ she gasps herself awake - is he hurt - what  _ happened,  _ where  _ is  _ she-

She glances around and quickly takes in her surroundings. Ah - the hospital wing at Hogwarts...Ok. That’s - fine. But - 

She is the only patient there.  _ Where is Draco? _

She tries to remember and categorize what had happened - 

-Marcus Flint accosted her in the loo.  
-Draco  _ saved  _ her.  
-Harry and Ron saw Draco and assumed he had been the cause of her stress.  
-Ron punched Draco in his poor, beautiful face, and the fight broke out.  
-She - what did she do next? She checked on Draco, ran up to try and help Blaise bring some order to the group, and -   
-Did someone hit her? Or hex her?

Her head hurts deeply, she realizes, now that she is taking stock of her surroundings. She imagines, as her head pounds violently, that this is what getting smacked by a bludger feels like and  _ why _ do they let children play quidditch!

She hears footsteps approaching from behind the curtain, and hesitantly watches Madam Pomfrey walk up to her. “Ah, good, you’re awake. How are you feeling, Miss Granger?”

“I’m fine,” she says, cautiously prodding the back of her head with a wince. “My head hurts a bit.”

_ And I’m in love with an idiot and definitely too embarrassed to ask for a bloody love potion antidote from you. _

“That’s to be expected,” Madam Pomfrey replies huffily. “After taking a wallop on the back of the head.”

She tries to remember who was behind her at the end, but it’s rather fuzzy. The only thing she knows for sure is that it hadn’t been Seamus, who had been directly in front of her.

“Was it a spell?”

“Unlikely, though hard to say for sure - there are no other effects besides a nasty bruise.” Madam Pomfrey hands her a jar with some ointment. “Once before you go to sleep, then every two hours when you wake up.”

“Thank you,” she replies quietly.

“Miss Granger…” Madam Pomfrey hesitates slightly. “You’re luckier than the others, actually. You’ve been here taking a nap, while they have been getting rightly reamed by the Deputy Headmistress.”

She smiles tiredly for a moment, but Pomfrey continues to regard her seriously.

“There was mention that there might have been - an  _ incident _ which started the fight. Are you - okay?”

She shudders. No, she is not okay, but imagining what might have happened if Malfoy hadn’t shown up to interrupt Flint feeling her up isn’t making her feel any better.

She looks down at her hands. “I’m fine,” she says softly.

Madam Pomfrey lets out a breath of relief. “Very good. You’d best be off to rest. I’ll tell Professor McGonagall that you will discuss the incident with her in the morning.”

She thanks the matron, takes her ointment and leaves, wondering what the fallout will be after all of this. The castle is quiet and she wonders how long it has been since the fight. Not  _ too _ long, certainly.

Preparing for a slow stumble to the Gryffindor tower, she comes to a sudden stop along with her heart as Draco turns the corner. 

He freezes for a moment when he sees her and they stare at each other.

His face is puffed and bruising, and he has a black eye. His lip is split, flecks of blood crusting at the corner of his mouth. His hair is sweaty and disheveled.

He has never looked more beautiful.

She takes a hesitant step towards him and notices him cradling his hand. She is too frazzled and exhausted and in pain to think about how the damn  _ potion _ is making her do this and she should  _ fight _ it, but she tentatively reaches a hand out to his injured one and takes a hold of it.

He watches her warily, eyes tired and curious or maybe suspicious, but he lets her take his hand.

His hand is bruised, knuckles purple and blue and cut up, probably from socking Flint in the jaw. And Ron, too, maybe. She starts to gently trace the bruise with her finger and can feel him shiver and hear him  _ breathing _ .

“Draco,” she whispers quietly, unable to stop herself from gazing into his steely eyes. His hand rests in hers so gently.

He frowns and shifts, tearing his eyes from her and looking vaguely above her head into the distance. 

“You alright?” he asks gruffly.

“I - I think so...are  _ you  _ alright?”

His frown deepens and he winces - 

Oh Merlin, she had forgotten that only a few hours ago he had taken a bludger directly to the ribs -  _ why _ would he have gone out so soon afterwards without getting treatment? 

A part of her wonders - did he do it for her? Did he think Flint might...try something? Did he want to protect her? 

She tries to shake the cobwebs out of her head but he is  _ there _ and their hands are  _ touching _ , and he  _ saved _ her and her heart is aching-

He smells like a garden hidden deep in the woods, cedary and spicy and she inhales deeply.

She is gazing at him intently and his eyes look almost soft for just a moment before his face hardens. He snatches his hand away from her as though burned. “I’m fine,” he huffs, and walks by her without another word, and she hopes he is on his way to the hospital wing for treatment.

She lets out a shuddering breath as if he slapped her. She pleads desperately with herself not to turn around and follow him, forcing her feet to trudge back to the common room. The walk could have taken five minutes or five years for all her mind is capable of processing information at the moment.

“Hermione!” gasps Ginny when she walks into the tower. “Are you okay??”

Ginny pops up from one of the chairs near the fireplace, where she is seated with an equally concerned Ron and Harry. 

Ginny wraps her in a hug, and she leans heavily into it. “I’m fine,” she finds herself whispering. “Just tired.”

They stay like that for a moment and she collects herself before studying the boys.

Harry looks fine enough, but Ron is sporting quite the black eye. 

“Oh Ron,” she sniffs, walking over to take a look at him. “Who did  _ that _ ?”

“Malfoy,” he grunts. “That git.”

Her heart immediately leaps to his defense, but she stills herself.

“He hits like a  _ girl _ ,” insists Ron. “Doesn’t even hurt. I whacked him much harder, the ponce. What did he  _ do _ to you back there Hermione? Are you okay? Really?”

She sighs and pats Ron’s hand gently - fairly similar to but much less charged than her recent interaction with Draco.

“I’m - fine, Ron. Didn’t he tell you what happened? It wasn’t - he wasn’t the one-”

She hesitates and her three friends stare at her curiously.

Malfoy hadn’t spoken up to defend himself? Hadn’t they all been getting yelled at by McGonnagall together?

She colors and looks down. “You saw Marcus Flint there with the Slytherins, right? Well, he - made an inappropriate pass at me.”

Her blush deepens. How mortifying.

Ron jumps to his feet in a rage. “WHAT-!”

“It’s okay Ron, I promise, he didn’t - nothing happened, really,” she insists, trying to suppress the memory of Flint doing more than nothing and leaning into her against the wall and the smell of his breath and the taste of his tongue. “No more punching today, okay?”

Ron grimaces but sits back down. After a moment he jumps back up and gapes at her. “The next time I see Flint, I swear...So - you’re sure you’re okay? Hey - wait, are you saying that  _ Malfoy _ -”

She blushes again and shrugs. “Dra - er, Malfoy intervened. On my behalf.”

Three mouths hang open and stare at her. Ron and Harry’s more in disbelief, and Ginny’s in more excited shock.

“He-” Ron slumps back down and looks at her intently for a moment. “Why would he - hey, you’re not  _ really  _ secret-dating him, are you?”

“We’ve been over that Ronald,” she snaps angrily. “I certainly am not. Besides, you all would’ve done the same for anyone in such a position, I’d hope.”

“Of course,” insists Ron. “But -  _ Malfoy - _ ”

She shakes her head. “Look, enough about that. We can analyze him tomorrow, yeah? I’m  _ exhausted _ . Tell me what happened with McGonagall so I can go to sleep.”

The two boys fill her in briefly. McGonagall had been predictably furious, particularly that so many prefects had been involved, not to mention both the Head Boy and the injured Head Girl. It had been such a chewing out such that even the Slytherin crew had looked uncomfortable.

“The fighting kind of wrapped up once you went down though. Well, except for Goyle flinging a chair at Harry,” Ron laughs and Harry colors.

She glances at him. “You don’t  _ look _ like you got walloped with a chair, Harry,” she observes.

“Eh,” Harry shifts and glances down. “He missed.”

“Hardly! His  _ girlfriend _ Parkin-tits cast a protection spell for him! Can you believe it?” Ron laughs obliviously.

Hermione cringes and tries not to immediately gauge reactions from the other two. “Don’t call her that, Ron,” she offers quietly.

Ginny pales and looks down at her feet. Harry blushes and does the same.

“She’s - er, not my girlfriend,” Harry replies lamely.

“Right, well, between her saving  _ your  _ arse and Malfoy saving  _ yours _ ,” Ron shakes his head in wonder. “What a strange night. Well, at least you’re alright Hermione - I swear, I’ll go to the next Wasp game myself and lay Flint out in front of everybody.”

Ginny excuses herself quietly and heads up the stairs while Harry stares regretfully after her.

The trio sit quietly for a moment. Hermione’s head is fairly woozy, and she debates just sinking into her chair and falling asleep in front of the crackling fireplace.

She idly wonders how Draco’s wounds are faring. His face had been quite bruised up.

“Hey,” she starts after a moment. “Did any of you see who hit me? There at the end? I was with Seamus, I didn’t see who it was.”

The boys both shrug. “Nobody knew when McGonagall asked,” Harry offers. “Seamus couldn’t see by that point, too much blood on his face. It got a little crazy there. Might’ve been anybody, by accident.”

“Couldn’t have been me though,” insists Ron. “I’d  _ never _ hit a girl!”

“You mean it couldn’t have been you because Malfoy laid you out and you were on the floor crying when it happened,” Harry retorts cheekily.

“I wasn’t crying,” huffs Ron with a scowl.

“An accident huh…” she sighs deeply, too exhausted to consider the ramifications of adding this to the list of mysteriously awful things that have happened to her this year. On that note, she bids her friends good night and retires to the dorms, desperate for sleep.

_ The forest is quiet at night. She has never noticed before, but it smells wonderful, like cedar and spice. _

_ She is supposed to be meeting someone here, isn’t she? But where is he? _

_ “I’m right here,” he whispers from behind her, breath gently tickling her ear. _

_ A shiver makes its way up her spine and she turns to face him and happiness floods her at his presence. _

_ “I knew you would be,” she replies quietly, reaching for his hand. _

_ He gently intwines their fingers and smiles lightly.  _

_ The forest is alive around them and she smiles back at him. _

_ He leans forward slowly, and she holds her breath in anticipation as his lips near hers. He reaches up with his other hand to cup her chin, smiles at her again, and kisses her. _

_ His lips are even more soft and gentle than his hands, and she runs her hand up his back to grasp his hair. His tongue darts playfully into her mouth as she opens herself to him. _

_ She pulls him back with her against a nearby tree, and when he moans against her lips she thinks it’s a good thing they’re already naked, isn’t it? He palms her breast lightly, running a finger over her hardened nipples, and she gasps into his mouth. _

_ He pulls back and watches her with a light smile, hair falling in front of his eyes, and his hands leave a trail of fire down her body as he deliberately makes his way lower. She shivers in anticipation as his hand gently brushes against her core. _

_ He kisses her once before gently sliding a finger inside, and she gasps and gazes at him. A second finger, then, and she could drown in the ocean that is his eyes. _

_ He slowly starts to move his fingers in and out, in and out, with a twist for good measure, and trapped between the tree and his hand she starts to writhe against him in the most exquisite kind of agony. _

_ He rests his forehead against hers as he drags his fingers against that most sensitive spot inside her. She can feel him breathing, the air hot and heavy against her face, and they are both gasping as one. _

_ “Hermione,” he whispers. _

_ In and out, in and out, she twists and turns on his hand and she is so close and she pulls his face closer to hers and kisses him fiercely as she writhes, and- _

_ “Oh, Draco-!” _

She awakes with a startled groan and immediately slaps her hands over her mouth. Had she just - oh Merlin, in her sleep??

She blushes deeply, glancing around and listening closely, trying to determine if Lavender and Parvati are awake - and if it’s possible she might have  _ actually _ cried his name out loud. She doesn’t even want to  _ think _ about what sorts of stories could emerge from such a thing. She would absolutely have to obliviate the both of them, right?

So - the love potion appears to still be in effect.

What a  _ nightmare _ , particularly after Flint-

She sighs and stares at the ceiling for a moment, willing herself to calm down (and cool off) with no particular desire to commence her Sunday morning routine. She forgoes journaling and reading to just sit there, alone, with her thoughts.

Trying to think about the fight only makes her think about  _ Draco _ , and she hopes he’s  _ okay _ , but short of sneaking into the Slytherin dungeons, she has no idea how to go about finding out. Who could she ask? Madam Pomfrey surely wouldn’t tell her. Parkinson maybe? Unlikely. Is there a way she could arrange to have the capstone group meet today? Improbable.

When is her next class with him? Herbology on Monday morning - but that is  _ so _ far away, an entire day!

She sighs again and rolls out of bed. May as well go on her usual Sunday morning stroll around the Great Lake. Some fresh air and hopefully a distraction might do her some good. Maybe she can visit Hagrid on the way back, and hopefully Ginny will be awake when she returns and can help with the love potion antidote.

She does some pushups first, until her arms ache. Better make sure it  _ hurts  _ when she sees Flint again and socks him one.

The fresh air, unfortunately, is no help. She hadn’t realized how many of her memories of Draco are entrenched into the school grounds. Remember their detention in the Forbidden Forest? Remember when he got cut by Buckbeak and whined for days? Remember when she slapped him? Remember when in fifth year, back when he used to smile more, she and Ginny had come by the lake for a swim and he was just - there, passing the time with his friends and  _ smiling _ and  _ laughing _ and-

She gasps in surprise as the object of her reverie is standing ahead of her down the path - almost as if he is waiting for her. He definitely sees her, and he hasn’t run away yet, so that’s-

Well, that’s something, maybe. Her heart fairly leaps out of her chest.

She approaches him cautiously. After how quickly he’d fled from her in the hallway the night before, she tries to tell herself to keep her cool, but she can’t help it - when she closes in, her mouth breaks into a traitorous smile.

He has a black eye, and maybe his jaw is a little swollen, but otherwise he looks quite good. His arms are folded across his chest and he watches her suspiciously, but she can’t help herself - she very nearly swoons in his presence.

“Hi,” she says, drawn towards him and still smiling like a bumbling fool.

He scowls at her and clenches his jaw, and she can  _ see _ his entire body tense, muscles taut and firm. “...Granger.”

She glances around - they are entirely alone on the path. “What are you doing here?” she asks curiously.

_ Did you want to see me please say you wanted to see me- _

He frowns uncomfortably. “You’re far too predictable, you know.”

She ponders that for a moment before gazing at his hands (oh, those hands!) and getting distracted. “Maybe I am. And?”

“And everyone knows you walk around the bloody lake on the weekends. And when you go to the library. And even your rounds route is a constant. You’re the one so scared about a conspiracy, aren’t you? What if I was here, I don't know, to hex your hair or something? You’re too easy to find. You should change up your routines.”

“I like my routines,” she observes, still unable to stop smiling at him but her heart is  _ thudding _ and it  _ hurts _ . “Is that why you’re here, Draco? To hex my hair?”

He levels her with a hard gaze. “Why are you doing that? You’re up to something, aren’t you? Tell me what.”

She blinks at him for a moment and he is so attractive to her at that moment while he glares that she wants to cry and she is  _ furious _ at herself. “Doing...what exactly are you accusing me of?”

He huffs in frustration. “This is the third time in two days you’ve called me Draco.”

“It’s...your name?” she points out. Ugh. One side effect of love potions they forget to mention is that it turns a generally smart and capable woman into a blubbering mess who can hardly speak a full sentence without sounding like a fool.

This is absurd - between the rumors going around the school assaulting her character, the love potion assaulting her mental faculties, and Flint’s assaulting her physical person, it has been far too much stress for one weekend and her nerves are frayed.

She tries to think back for a moment - when did she start thinking of him by his first name? Once she drank the potion? Sometime after? She can’t recall.

He gapes at her indignantly, stepping closer and towering over her. “What’s your angle, Granger? Hm? You are certainly never subtle when it comes to accusing me of evil doing - ducking out of the meeting yesterday, watching me like you’re expecting me to be  _ up to something _ . I  _ saw _ you watching me during the quidditch match - what, you think I’m rigging the games or something now? Should I expect Potter and Weasley to ambush me and avenge your honor after last night?”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise and watches him closely. It makes sense, she supposes, that he thought she was half-heartedly spying on him again because of the incident at the Halloween party, particularly after their unhelpful conversation. She has a track record of doing it. She shrugs at him, head spinning and unsure of what to say. ‘I’m in love with you and I hate myself and _ did you do this to me oh god I can’t hear myself think _ ’ doesn’t have a great ring to it.

He takes a step closer and she gasps, feeling her entire body reacting to him. He sneers down at her. “Or don’t tell me that all the stupid rumors about you are  _ actually _ true. What, you’re sick of freckled ginger cock and want to give a  _ real  _ Pureblood a go, is that it?”

“You’re awful. Ron and I aren’t-” He steps forward again and his words sting but the waves of emotion drawing her to him in this moment are  _ aching. _ “Don’t-” she chokes.

“Don’t  _ what _ ?”

She breathes in deeply and the hints of ginger and evergreen are intoxicating. Her heart thuds in her chest and she thinks she might pass out if he comes any closer, or collapse into his arms, and-

“What the  _ fuck _ is wrong with you, Granger?” he demands, grabbing her shoulders not quite roughly with  _ those hands _ , and she remembers  _ those fingers _ from her dream and _ - _

_ “You are, _ you idiot!” she snaps, gazing into his eyes desperately and gasping for breath. “You are! Isn’t it obvious?”

He freezes. “What?”

She can feel tears stinging in her eyes and hates that she somewhat constantly finds herself in tears around this stupid boy and suddenly she can’t help the words from spilling out of her mouth. 

_ “Please, _ tell me it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you, wasn’t it? My tea was spiked with some sort of -  _ love potion _ yesterday, and now - I can’t - I can’t - I -” she gasps for breath and shudders in his arms. He is so close and she reaches up and grasps his shirt tightly, twisting the fabric into a bunch that she can hold - wanting to push him away but no, really wanting to pull him closer, so much closer.

Draco looks dumbfounded and his eyes are captivating.

_ “Please,” _ she begs him in a whisper. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

“A love potion?” he repeats dubiously.

She groans in affirmation. His scent is  _ overwhelming _ and she cannot help but drop her forehead down and rest it on his chest while she hiccups in a sob.

She breathes in deeply,  _ inhaling _ him. “I - this is hard,” she admits, unable to keep the words bottled in. “I  _ know _ I don’t have feelings for you, rationally, and we  _ hate _ each other, don’t we? But you - right now-”

She keeps her head buried in his chest, eyes screwed shut, and knows that one day very soon she will be mortified by all of this but wrapped in his arms she can think of nothing else-

“We hate - you really think  _ I _ would do something like-” his mouth curls in disgust. “You can’t honestly believe that!”

“I know,” she hiccups out. “I get it, you would never want a  _ Mudblood _ to fancy you. But Draco - why  _ wouldn’t  _ I think it was you? Nothing you have  _ ever  _ done makes me think you  _ wouldn’t _ enjoy seeing me act like an absolute fool.”

“Oh, for Merline’s sake, it wasn’t me,” his chest rumbles pleasantly against her as he speaks. “What kind of monster do you think - it wasn’t me, Granger.”

She feels his grip tighten on her shoulders as if he isn’t sure what to do, and they remain in an awkward half-embrace.

“I believe you, Draco, I  _ do _ \- but I don’t know if it’s just the potion  _ telling  _ me to believe you, and it’s - it’s so confusing,” she laments with a sob against his chest. “I  _ hate _ being confused.”

“I believe that,” he replies quietly. He is silent after that for a moment, but tentatively moves his thumb in a circular, somewhat comforting motion near her collar bone. She  _ shivers _ and holds back her sobs.

He smells  _ amazing- _

“Last night,” he starts cautiously. “You were - feeling these same effects? You said it started yesterday.”

She nods, sure his fancy shirt is getting wrinkled in her grasp and drenched in her tears. “It’s more affecting the closer you are, I believe.” Well, lovely, now he has ammunition to use against her if he so desires.

“Ah...should we - should I back away?”

_ No! _

“Er- that’s probably a good idea,” she acknowledges, without releasing her grasp on his shirt.

He shifts and oh god she wants to close the remaining space between them and-

He releases her shoulders and keeps her at arms length, regarding her with deeply concerned eyes.

“Do you think-” he starts to ask, frown deepening. “Do you  _ really  _ think it’s all connected then? The pranks, the rumors, this potion?”

“I-I’m not sure. I can’t really think straight at the moment.”

He blushes at her desperately hungry look and it is  _ adorable _ . “I’ll, ah, look into it. This love potion thing. Maybe. If I can.”

Her entire body shivers again, but she forces her eyes to the ground, not daring to make eye contact with him at this point. “Okay,” she breathes, relinquishing her hold on him and wanting to collapse in a heap at his feet.

“Do you -” she can hear him frown. “Should I walk you back? Are you - okay?”

_ Don’t leave me here- _

“I’m fine,” she whispers.

He sighs and starts to leave.

“Draco,” she calls before he can take more than a couple steps. “Did you see who hit me last night? None of us did, but...”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but doesn’t take another step to leave.

“You’d tell me, right?” she asks, ashamed at how small her voice sounds. “If someone actually really wanted to hurt me - not just little pranks, but  _ really _ hurt me, you’d tell me?”

“Granger,” he replies, voice low. “I - look, I’m sorry about what happened with Flint. I really am. Okay?”

She sighs at the non-answer and nods. “Okay. Thanks for - well...thanks.”

_ Thanks for saving me, you arse, I hate you, please don’t leave me- _

He lingers for another moment (he has to know  _ something _ else that he’s not telling her doesn’t he but oh god why won’t he come back and  _ hold _ her-)

She hears his footsteps taking him away and she falls to her knees, hand in her face, and cries. She thinks about Draco and she sobs, she thinks about Flint and his  _ hands _ and his  _ leering _ and she debates dunking her head into the lake in the hopes that maybe the water would envelop her and let her stop thinking for just  _ one bloody minute _ .

The further he gets, the more stable she feels, but also the more  _ blunted _ after having felt so alive in their strange embrace.

After a few minutes of ordering her body to stop crying and trying to compose herself, she resolves to try to never cry in front of him - or anyone! - ever again after all this potion nonsense is done with and her body chemistry normalizes.

When she finally stumbles her way back to the castle, Ginny catches her in the Great Hall. 

“Hey - have a minute?” Ginny asks, looking a little worse for wear.

“Of course,” she says, a little shakily. “I was just about to look for you, actually.”

“Yeah?” Ginny’s eyes are a little red. “What’s up? How’s your head?”

“Oh- yes, I’m fine, but- are  _ you _ okay?”

“Can we go somewhere quiet to chat, maybe?”

“Of course - just know that you’re risking a whole new slew of rumors by being alone with me.”

“I should  _ be _ so lucky,” insists Ginny with a grin, but her eyes are still sad. “Speaking of rumors,” Ginny continues as they head towards Hermione’s favorite spot to hide from the world - the library, of course. “You should hear what they’re saying about the fight.”

“I can imagine,” she mumbles. Draco and Ron fighting for her affection? Maybe two newcomers, Dean and Neville entering the Hermione sweepstakes? Or - heaven forbid someone  _ knows _ what happened with Flint-

“Apparently, Ron and Malfoy were having themselves a good old-fashioned duel...over Lavender!” Ginny giggles. “To hear her say it, she was quite the center of attention last night.”

Hermione quirks an eyebrow. “She  _ wants _ ridiculous rumors to spread about her? Because I am quite in the surplus and would be  _ happy _ to let her have mine.”

Ginny laughs again. “Well, you know, I think Ron might’ve believed that nonsense about you and Malfoy more than he let on. And - well, in hindsight, I might’ve egged him on a tad. Sorry about that?”

“How  _ dare _ you,” she rolls her eyes and laughs tiredly. “So?”

“Well, what I’m saying is, clearly Ron attacked Malfoy just to impress you. And now Lavender is getting all the credit! It's a shame, that’s what it is.”

_ Poor Draco, bruises maring his perfect face- _

She shudders and realizes she is probably not ready to confess her love potion/awkwardly-hugging-Draco incident for at least the next century.

“Well,” she sighs. “I suppose that means I have to duel Lavender, yes? Trying to steal not only my lovers, but my throne as the local harlot.”

Ginny laughs. “I’ll be your second, of course - I love Lav, but she’s been asking for it this year! Hey - so, it was just you and Lav right?” she segues awkwardly. “As far as girls being fought over?”

Hermione hesitates, sensing exactly where this is going. “We were the only Gryffindor girls there, yes.”

“Ah. So...about what Ron said, there really were some Slytherin girls there? Who got involved in the fighting?”

“Well, Daphne was there, but I lost track of her in the chaos...Pansy as well.”

Ginny sighs and pinches her forehead. “She really helped Harry? That wasn’t just Ron talking like an idiot?”

Hermione shrugs. “I thought I heard her cast a protection spell, but - there was a lot going on.”

Ginny looks forlorn for a moment. “Are they…?”

“I honestly don’t know, Gin. I think - well, he seems like he might have some interest, though nothing serious. And she seems - well frankly, it’s hard to tell with her.”

Ginny sighs and looks forlorn. “I hate that I feel so awkward around him. It’s like I’m a ten year old girl with a stupid little crush again.”

Hermione sighs, not quite sure what to say. “You know Harry. He can be a bit daft about this sort of thing. Maybe you need to try being more direct with him? And - well, if worse comes to worst we can always try a love potion, you know.”

Ginny laughs and gives her a side hug. “It’s good to have options, I suppose. Thanks, Hermione.”

She decides not to bother Ginny about the love potion antidote yet. The effects should start to wear off soon, hopefully, and she can ask Ginny tomorrow when the poor girl is inevitably in a better mood.

“I have to go talk to McGonagall about all of this nonsense. Talk later?”

“Sure - oh, do let me know if you want to duel Parkinson for Harry’s honor instead of me, yeah?”

Professor McGonagall has a stern look when she arrives at the office.

“Madam Pomfrey assures me that you were not seriously injured and will make a quick recovery. You are feeling well?”

She assures the Deputy Headmistress in so many words that all is in order, and that she is quite regretful for the way the previous evenings events unfolded.

McGonagall eyes her concernedly. “Mr. Weasley intimated that there was an altercation involving Mr. Malfoy and yourself which instigated the entire incident. Mr. Malfoy declined to comment, other than to assure me he wasn’t responsible for your distress. Perhaps you would like to shed some light on this situation?”

She hesitates. “Mr. Malfoy...declined to comment?”

The professor nods. “He said it was your story to tell.”

She frowns at that, simultaneously grateful and annoyed. However, seeing suspicion in McGonagall’s eyes, she decides to provide some more details explaining that no, Malfoy hadn’t been responsible for the incident and yes, in fact, he had assisted her during an uncomfortable encounter.

McGonagall looks pleasantly surprised to learn that, and Hermione commits to selling the entire incident as a giant misunderstanding amongst friends.

“I should say, I am pleased that you and Mr. Zabini at least made an effort to break up the fight. I would ask that you two look for activities  _ not _ involving quidditch or alcohol to further unify the houses. Tensions are quite high enough as it is.”

She nods politely.

“I warned the other students, Ms. Granger, that I am excessively disappointed in them for engaging in such behavior outside the school grounds. If there is another incident, be sure that we will have to call in the authorities.”

She nods again, deeply upset at disappointing her Head of House, but very sure that McGonagall wants her to read between the lines that diverting auror attention to Hogwarts at this time would not be ideal. “Of course, ma’am.” She turns to leave.

“One more thing, Ms. Granger. The headmaster has expressed some interest in your capstone project progress. He has asked me to pass this book along to you, hoping it may aid you and your team along the way.”

Dumbledore, interested in her project! She looks curiously at the dusty looking tome McGonagall hands her. It’s quite thick, entitled The Rule of Four, written by Bridget Wenlock, and she can hardly contain her excitement to get back to the Gryffindor tower and start reading. She thanks the professor profusely before leaving to do just that.

She spends the rest of the day hiding in her room, desperate to avoid any possibility of running into Malfoy, and she reads.

She casts a silencing charm around her bed before she goes asleep, just in case.

When she arrives at the greenhouse for herbology in the morning, he is waiting for her and she steels herself for another round of intense heart thudding. He is unsubtly leaning on her desk,  _ smirking, _ and holding a small vial between his hands ( _ oh, _ but those hands!).

She can  _ do _ this. One class with him, and then she can corner Ginny and be done with this awfulness.

“Granger,” he drawls, and she sighs at the sound of his voice. “I brought you a present.”

She eyes the vial in his hand curiously.

He quirks an eyebrow (and she shudders). “It’s not poison, I promise.”

She takes the vial and hastily downs its contents, thinking that even if it  _ is _ poison, nothing could be worse than what she is currently experiencing.

She shuts her eyes for a moment and almost instantly a cool wave passes over her. She can feel her heart rate slow down and her temperature normalize. Her body relaxes and she almost sinks to the floor in relief.

When she opens her eyes, she is a little surprised to note that although the aura surrounding him has dissipated, he still seems rather more attractive than usual - maybe some symptoms take longer to wear off? She had expected to feel her usual sense of revulsion upon beholding him. In any case, she isn’t being inexorably drawn to him by her very soul at the moment, so that is certainly an improvement.

He watches her steadily.

“Oh... _ thank you _ ,” she breathes heavily. She can still smell his scent lingering in the air _ (Merlin _ , she had nearly inhaled him yesterday! How completely mortifying), but she isn’t affected.

He shrugs in response.

“Does this mean you know who did it?” she asks quietly as other students start to filter in.

“No,” he replies, averting his eyes. “I already had an antidote.”

She looks at him inquisitively and somewhat suspiciously. “You just had a love potion antidote lying around?”

He shifts and starts to head towards his seat in the back of the classroom. “You know how it is, Granger. Everyone’s out to entrap a Pureblood heir these days - half the Slytherins carry antidotes around just in case. For all I know,  _ you _ were trying to use that barmy love potion on  _ me! _ ”

She thinks he’s lying and wonders if he stayed awake all night brewing the damned thing. She huffs at his back as he smirks and saunters away, and she notes that she has a hard time dragging her eyes away from his retreating form.

Surely the antidote just needs a little more time to be fully processed.

Surely.

She shivers lightly and forces herself to turn away.


	13. Chapter 13

Perhaps she should stop keeping lists? She is starting to feel a little helpless.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, and excessively difficult if they keep participating in fisticuffs with large Slytherins  
-Avoid Draco Malfoy for at least the next several decades, possibly reuniting for their class’s 100th year anniversary at the earliest: impossible  
-Convince Hannah that divination is silly and has no place in a project whose foundation is fact-based: impossible  
-Sort out all of the nonsense that has been happening this year: seemingly impossible  
-Hexes, pranks, rumors, drawings and stupid love potions: not clear, and certainly more complex than just the two Slytherin first-years  
-Dark Mark graffiti: not clear, perhaps idiot Slytherins  
-Eye of the Eagle strangeness: not clear, perhaps idiot Ravenclaws

She glares at her list violently. Where could she even start? At least the book Dumbledore had provided seemed interesting. 

She checks her notes on the Rule of Four.

-Arithmancy formula derived from the Rule of Seven, discovered and defined by Bridget Wenlock circa 1250  
-Significantly less well studied than the Rule of Seven, largely due to the vast amount of evidence of the magical properties of the number seven (further studying available under mythology, science, mathematics, etc)  
-Bridget Wenlock was a Hufflepuff, for whatever that might be worth  
-Wenlock’s extensive study into the magical properties of the number four was met with resistance, largely due to the wizarding communities lack of interest in the number four; the number thirteen was considered far more in vogue in the 1200s  
-The aborted study would have had one section focused on the number four in relation to Hogwarts  
-Something involving the four founders? Is that what Dumbledore wants the team to look into?  
-Four is associated with earth elemental energy  
-Four is imbued with the magical tenants of protection and security  
-The fourth element is beryllium  
-Beryl harmonizes with foresightedness  
-Beryl gemstones most commonly appear as green, blue, yellow, and red (any significance to the four houses?)  
-The four-point spell exists, and will guide the caster north  
-There have allegedly been four-headed bird sightings in and around Diagon Alley, though these are rarely documented

She really hopes this research project does not end with a hunt for a four-headed bird, but aside from that, the notes are more theoretical than anything.

“Oy, Hermione,” Ron interrupts her studying sheepishly. “All right?”

She sighs heavily, having been trying to mentally prepare for a conversation with him all week. Having watched him and Lavender snogging all over the school has been rather difficult to ignore. “All right,” she agrees. “And you?”

He smiles crookedly and takes a seat across from her. “Well, I still have to finish that DADA essay, but otherwise I’m good.”

“Ron,” she laughs slightly exasperatedly, having had some version of this conversation nearly every week since they met. “It’s due on Monday!”

He grins. “Well - I was going to work on it this morning, but thought I might have something more important to do.”

“Oh?” she asks innocently. “Taking Lavender on a brunch date, are you?”

He groans and raises a hand to brush his hair back. “No, I - look, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk this week.”

She raises an eyebrow pointedly at him and he blushes, sure that she has seen him spending plenty of time  _ not talking _ with someone else in a corner of the common room lately. 

“I just wanted to make sure - you know, that’s you’re okay. After all that stuff that happened.” He blushes again, likely thinking of Flint and what might have happened that night.

“I’m - fine, Ron. More or less, at any rate,” she offers with a light smile. “Thank you for asking.”

He frowns heavily, knowing her well enough to understand that she is downplaying how she feels, although he does not know about all the love potion related stress she went through - and she has absolutely no intention of filling him in about that.

“If you say so,” he shrugs, watching her closely.

“So,” she interrupts. “You and Lav, hm? How’s that going?”

He blushes again and looks down. “Oh, you know. She’s - great.”

“Apparently, you fought Malfoy over her, did you know that?” she grins and watches him squirm a little in his seat.

“Oh, heh, right, I heard something about that...well, at least he’s moved on from pestering you, yeah?” 

“Right,” she agrees tentatively, suddenly more irrationally annoyed at Lavender than ever. “Well, he’ll be here for our capstone meeting soon if you’d like to stay and duel him.”

Ron laughs lightly. “I’d like to duel him, sure! But - not for that reason, just in general, the git.”

She sighs, trying to sort her thoughts out about the git himself. He really hadn’t had to bring her that antidote, but he did - maybe to make his own life easier, but maybe just to help her? What a confusing boy. “He really did help me that night, Ron,” she says slowly. “Maybe go easy on the hexing, yeah?”

He frowns slightly, before offering a half-hearted wink. “Still defending your boyfriend, eh?”

She cringes for more reasons than he knows. “Ron - I need you to know, these rumors have  _ not _ been fun for me. They’ve been making this year even more difficult, regardless of capstones and NEWTs and dark marks and eagle eyes.”

He nods earnestly. “Hermione - I really didn’t mean to tell anyone about us, you know?”

“But - you did, didn’t you?”

He blushes right to the tips of his ears. “I - might’ve mentioned something to Harry and the boys after a few drinks. I’m - oh, Hermione, I’m  _ so _ sorry.”

She had known that he had spilled, but it still hurts to hear it. “Well. Thank you for your honesty.” She sighs heavily, really not wanting to fight with him.

For his part, he looks quite devastated. “Is there something I can do? Anything - please, tell me.”

She laughs tiredly. “Sure - the next time you hear some bloke insult my honor and virtue, feel free to punch them in the face like you did to Malfoy.”

He laughs. “Consider it done. You know - I really shouldn’t have said anything, and I am sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me, at some point. This isn’t really an excuse, but - I was excited,” he blushes slightly. “I suppose I thought - well, I might’ve thought it - what happened between us - meant more than it did…” he trails off awkwardly, and she is sure that it  _ is _ an excuse, but maybe it’s not a bad one, and she decides that the poor boy is feeling awkward enough as it is.

“Ron - what happened between us was perfect, at the time,” she feels herself begin to blush with him. “And - well, I’m still sore at you for telling, but I’m glad it was with you.”

He smiles a little sadly and pats her hand lightly. “Well, me too, for what it’s worth. So - we agree then, yeah? I’ll punch anyone who wrongs you, and you’ll forgive me one day, right?”

“Actually,” she leans a little closer and lowers her voice. “I do have a favor to ask. Crabbe is your capstone partner, yeah?”

He nods and she briefly explains the incident from the Halloween party. She can see him twitch, ready to go hunt down Crabbe for a row, and she remembers exactly why she may have used to fancy him so.

“Both Pansy  _ and _ Malfoy have warned me about him. I have hardly spoken to him, literally ever - maybe you can keep an eye on him? See if he’s up to anything suspicious?”

Ron laughs gutturally but nods. “He can hardly string two sentences together, let alone get  _ up to anything _ . I’m half convinced he’s a squib you know - don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually do any magic. But yeah, sure, I’ll be on the watch.”

“And if you spot something - feel free to punch him.”

He grins widely and squeezes her hand.

Ron takes off as her team filters in, fairly glowering at Malfoy and Michael, and she is grateful to see that she can depend on him for consistency, at least.

Malfoy and Michael both glare after Ron as he leaves, and she almost laughs at the similar features on their faces.

She summarizes her notes about the Rule of Four for the group, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Malfoy, even though she can feel his eyes boring a hole into the side of her skull.

“Very interesting,” breathes Michael. “Hey, you’re sure cooky old Bridget Wenlock was a Hufflepuff? I always thought she was a Ravenclaw.”

“Hey,” blushes Hannah in the most politely indignant voice. “There have been plenty of intellectuals who have come from Hufflepuff, thank you very much.”

“Well, of course,” Michael grimaces, clearly not spoiling for a fight with the absolute nicest person in the school.

( _ A fight - oh Merlin, last weekend was quite the disaster wasn’t it? _ )

She ignores Malfoy even harder.

“Anyway,” continues Michael. “I’ve been working on the arithmancy formula, as we discussed. I’ve made some progress and have been getting some decent alignment, though now I’m wondering if the Rule of Four might help clarify a few things. Maybe - ah, maybe we can test out a few permutations together later?”

“I would  _ love _ to join this arithmancy party,” interrupts Malfoy before she can respond. She can practically hear his smirk. “Over dinner and drinks, eh Corner?”

Michael shoots a glare at Malfoy while Hermione studiously ignores him.

“Maybe after class on Wednesday, Michael, thank you. Hannah, any updates on the...divination research?”

“Actually, yes, somewhat,” blushes Hannah. “It - might not  _ exactly _ align with our project goals, but I thought it was quite interesting. We have an old journal of Helga Hufflepuff’s in the common room. It’s available for any of the older students to read through if they like.”

Hermione almost gasps - a journal of one of the founders! Why hadn’t she known about it? And, why isn’t it in a museum? And more importantly, why will Malfoy not stop twirling his damn quill around-

She thinks that there might be some residual effects from the love potion as she cannot stop watching his fingers work out of the corner of her eye.

“A journal! Hm, might it perhaps be available to non-Hufflepuff students?” she asks, mind alight with the possibility of reading Helga Hufflepuff’s recipes in her own hand.

“I’ll ask Professor Sprout!” agrees Hannah enthusiastically. “There’s a passage I’d like to show you. I couldn’t bring the book out of the room, but I copied it over here.”

Hannah takes out a piece of parchment and angles it on the table so that everyone can see. Even Malfoy leans forward curiously, almost brushing his arm againsts her as one strand of hair falls down in front of his eyes.

She shivers and stares at the parchment, scanning it quickly.

“Helga Hufflepuff had a dream, see, and the words that came to her - she thought it might be some sort of prophecy. It sounds like one, doesn’t it? Anyway - she thought the other founders might agree with her, though she doesn’t reflect on their responses here.”

Hermione frowns at the medieval writing.

_ The four, the four, the four, the four. _   
_ Four heirs of which you’d best beware, _   
_ You invaders of the castle fair. _   
_ You’ll come nigh the night, and you’ll make nary a sound, _   
_ Yet the Four will banish you from the grounds. _   
_ Mine’s friendly and loyal and fears not the war, _   
_ She and the Four will settle the score. _

Her frown deepens, annoyed as ever with prophecies. “Well, that’s certainly rather vague isn't it?”

“It doesn’t sound like anything that might’ve happened already, historically,” Hannah shrugs nervously.

“Four heirs,” muses Michael, tilting his head thoughtfully. “The Rule of Four. There are a lot of fours going around, yeah? Reckon it might be about the four of us?”

Malfoy scoffs. “Think you’re that important, do you Corner?”

“More likely to be than  _ you,  _ Malfoy.”

“This is great, Hannah,” she interrupts before the boys can continue. Honestly, Malfoy seems to have a way of needling every boy in the school. “Thank you for sharing. As you say, it doesn’t quite align with our scope, but, I wonder - maybe it could get us some metrics about the founders, can you imagine? I’ll ask Professor McGonagall if she has access to any of Godric Gryffindor’s journals from around this time. I believe there is one in the Museum of Medieval Magicks.”

“We have one of Rowena Ravenclaw’s,” responds Michael, still glaring at Malfoy. “I’ve heard it has some information about dreams and whatnot. I’ll need to request approval for it first, however, and likely solve a series of riddles.”

“That sounds rather fun, actually,” she smiles.

“Sounds like a very cute first date,” Malfoy grins cheekily, which she quite ignores.

Everyone is silent for a moment, and Hermione refuses to engage Malfoy in the obvious question. Michael continues to glare, so poor Hannah takes it upon herself to ask.

“Draco,” she starts, cautious and blushing. “Have you heard about anything like that? A journal, maybe, belonging to Salazar Slytherin?”

Still smirking at Michael, he shrugs noncommittally, though she is sure he would have eviscerated anyone other than Hannah for asking.

Hannah looks crestfallen. “Oh, all right then.”

Hermione sighs, unsurprised. “Well, I suppose this is as far as we can go today.”

Hannah waves farewell and takes off, while Michael lingers for a moment. Malfoy, much to her chagrin, stays put, stretching out and leaning back in his chair.

Michael watches them for a moment, face impassive, and she decides she may as well study for the upcoming potions exam and keep ignoring Malfoy.

Michael shrugs awkwardly. “Right then - see you at Arithmancy, I suppose.”

“Toodles, Corner!” Malfoy calls with a wave and a smirk.

She sighs again, not sure how she can continue to ignore him, but determined to try. Might have been nice of Michael to have come up with some excuse to stick around, but nothing for it.

She stares at her potions textbook.

He leans back in his chair and exhales loudly.

She reads and rereads the first paragraph.

He drums his fingers heavily on the table.

She rerereads the same paragraph.

He lifts his hands up in the air and stretches with a long yawn.

She slams her book shut and glares at him. “May I help you?” she snaps.

He looks at her in mock surprise and dramatically pinches himself on the arm. “Oh, I still exist? With how hard you’ve been ignoring me, I wasn’t so sure.”

“Why are you still here?” she huffs.

He grins lecherously at her and she wants to slap him. “I wanted to see if you were in need of my services. I’m not such a bad bloke, Granger - I’d be happy to find us a secluded supply closet and shag you properly if required. Or maybe just a quickie in the restricted section. What do you say?”

She fumes and isn’t quite sure if she is blushing out of deep mortification or regular righteous fury. And he had seemed  _ so nice _ while she was at her most vulnerable. “I need to study. Go away, Malfoy.”

“Back to Malfoy again, is it?” he sighs dramatically. “Alas - I guess the antidote that  _ I gave you _ worked. No shagging required then, I suppose.”

“Thank you for the antidote, now please go away.”

“Abandoning me for your regular boyfriend, eh? I assume that the Weasel braved the library today just to get back together with you?”

“Ron and I are not _ - _ ” she pauses, narrowing her eyebrows at him. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Malfoy? You enjoyed me making calf-eyes at you so much you’ve stayed behind to roofie my tea again?”

“Jealous of Weasley!” he scoffs. “Imagine that. Broke, goofy looking ginger, mediocre at quidditch, in love with Potter, and a general imbecile? If the only perk - and I’d hardly call it that - is that he shags you now and again, then no thank you.”

“Ron does  _ not _ shag me, he is quite good at quidditch, and he is  _ not _ an imbecile!”

“That’s sweet of you to defend your man, Granger, really. I’ll have you know, he is absolutely an idiot and he punches like a  _ girl _ .”

“The black eye you were sporting all week suggests otherwise - and he’s quite smart, I’ll have  _ you  _ know. I imagine he’s the best chess player in the entire school.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true, he-” as she prepares to launch into the tale of Ron’s chess heroics from their first year (which Malfoy is clearly purposefully ignoring) and how he has only gotten better since then, she pauses, an idea forming in her mind. “Maybe I’ll give him a chance to prove it! Blaise and I have been looking for non-quidditch related activities for the students. A chess tournament could be fun!”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes, sitting around for hours playing  _ chess _ . Sounds quite riveting - that should solve all your problems.”

“Scared you’d lose, hm?” she smiles and bats her eyes at him.

He scoffs. “I’d beat  _ you _ , no doubt. I’ve been playing since I was a boy.”

“Well, I’m comforted by the fact you haven’t grown up very much since boyhood. Besides, I’ve been playing since I was young as well.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Whatever, Granger. It’s called  _ Wizard’s Chess _ . I learnt before I ever got to Hogwarts.”

“So did I,” she sniffs, annoyed. “You do know muggles play chess as well, don’t you? It’s a non-lazy version where they move the pieces themselves.”

He actually looks surprised, and she is convinced that he indeed did not, in fact, know muggles could play chess. “Well - that sounds awful.”

“You’re more like Ron than you think, you know. You’re both quite lazy.”

“Bah. I’ll lazily destroy all you Gryffindors at chess, then. How do muggles even learn to play if the pieces don’t communicate with them?”

She is fairly surprised at his curiosity. “Well - my parents taught me how the pieces move. And I learned some strategy from books.”

“Books, what a surprise,” he laughs. “Very Ravenclaw of you, Granger. Remind me why you ended up with those Gryffindor dolts?”

“I’m quite brave, if you recall. Besides - how did  _ you _ learn to play?”

He shrugs, the light smile fading from his face into something tight and drawn. “My father taught me to play.”

She watches him closely, having long been under the impression that he fairly idolized his disgraced father. “Oh?” she asks cautiously. “I imagine he would be...rather strict as a teacher.”

He scoffs and glares at her in that familiar glowering manner of his. “You don’t know  _ a thing _ about him.”

She reels back at the sudden sharpness in his voice and looks back down at her book. He had almost been pleasant a few moments ago bantering about chess and she mentally berates herself for momentarily forgetting the boy’s nature. “Maybe so,” she responds quietly.

Malfoy sits in silence for a moment. When she is sure he is about to grab his things and storm off, he surprises her once again by continuing the conversation in a softer voice. “He never coddled me, and certainly never let me win. He was hard on me when I made tactical errors, and even harder on me if I forgot his instructions. I wouldn’t call that strict - I’d call that a useful life lesson.”

She can’t quite disagree with that statement, although she is confident it is not the entire story of Lucius Malfoy’s parenting techniques.

“He- he’s my  _ father _ ,” Malfoy trails off with a shrug. “He has always had high expectations of me.”

She watches him again without commenting. His jaw is clenching and his eyes are steely. She is quite sure now that there have been some after effects from the love potion, because while she is no longer experiencing the disturbingly intense waves of lust, she finds herself almost wanting to gaze into his stupidly pretty eyes.

“High expectations,” she repeats slowly, thinking of his father’s Death Eater legacy. “I’m sure he does.”

He shrugs uncomfortably. “He manages the family enterprises. Being wealthy doesn’t just happen, you know.”

_ It does when your family has been generationally wealthy since the Middle Ages _ , she thinks to herself. “Is that your lot in life then? Being a professional wealthy person?”

“Well - I could do worse than that, surely.”

“Hm,” she responds non-committedly, thinking that he could surely do better if he wanted.

He seems to hear her unspoken thoughts and sits quietly for a moment.

“There, ah, might be a journal, you know,” he offers hesitantly. “One of old Salazar’s. My father has always been a bit of an artifact collector.”

She can’t help but be enticed by the possibility of reading journals from each of the founders. How incredible! She is surprised no one has made an attempt to do this before! She tries to rein in her excitement as she wonders if it might not be too late to change the entire nature of their project. “Oh?”

He rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t pretend like you’re not randy for dusty old books, Granger. I’ll have to request my father’s permission, but…” he trails off looking slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I can’t promise he’ll say yes, but I’ll ask.”

She can’t help but smile again at the possibility. “Malfoy - thanks.”

He shrugs, and she is once again perturbed to realize that she is  _ noticing _ things about him - things like the way he shrugs his shoulders all the time, and more specifically that his muscles ripple under his shirt when he does. She had never considered him to be an attractive sort - it had simply never occurred to her to override his awful personality with that fact. Had he always been, and it had taken a stupid love potion to make her see it? She shakes her head and resolves to take another dose of love potion antidote as soon as possible, just in case.

“Whatever.” He shifts as if he is going to leave but pauses and looks at her seriously for a moment. “Hey. You’re okay, yeah? The thing with Flint-”

“I’m fine,” she stiffens and looks away, not wanting to delve into the mortifying incident again. “Thank you, I suppose, for letting me explain the situation to McGonagall myself.”

He sighs heavily. “Look - did you think about what I said at all? About changing up your routine?”

She levels him with a curious stare, but glances up at an approaching figure before she can respond.

“All right, Hermione?” Blaise interrupts politely, walking up to the table holding a few books. He looks at Malfoy in surprise for a moment before giving him a friendly clap on the back.

Malfoy smiles thinly.

“Hello, Blaise,” she greets, a little put out at the timing of his arrival. “Good timing, actually - Malfoy here helped me come up with an idea to promote some more inter-house camaraderie.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow at that. ”Did he now?”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

She grins brightly. “He did indeed. He thinks he actually has a chance to beat me in chess, can you imagine?”

Blaise laughs lightly. “Well, he’s always been an overconfident fellow.”

Malfoy fairly bristles at them both and stands to leave. “I have an appropriate amount of confidence and you both know it. Granger - I’ll let you know about the book.”

“Hey Draco,” Blaise calls lightly as the boy begins to stalk away. “Going to Hog’s Head tonight with the lads. See you there?”

Malfoy glances back and shrugs again noncommittally (always shrugging, that boy!). “Sure, maybe.”

Blaise sighs and turns back to Hermione. “A chess tournament, eh? That could be fun, and likely less dangerous than quidditch - yeah, maybe the houses can compete for the most victories.”

She frowns at Malfoy’s retreating form for another moment. Why had he bothered to stay after the group meeting anyway? Certainly not just to offer to look for the journal or to annoy her into not ignoring him? And that bit about changing her routines - was that some sort of warning, maybe? Should she prepare for another prank?

And - was she imagining it or was there a hint of coldness between the two Slytherin boys?

She sighs before nodding at Blaise. She glances at the books he has in his hands and notices a familiar title. “The Dreambinder’s Grimoire!” she laughs. “I didn’t realize you’re partial to divination, Blaise.”

He sighs deeply and glares at the thick tome for a moment before tucking it under his arm. “I’m not particularly, but you know - it’s for the capstone.”

“Ah, right - Lavender is on your team. I assume she’s the one responsible for that?”

He offers a tight smile, and she is  _ very _ familiar with making that exact face around her roommate for the previous six years.

“Well, you have my sympathies. Hannah loves divination too - we’re getting roped into a dream analysis here too, it seems.”

“Want to borrow this book?” he grins.

She laughs. “Maybe give it to Malfoy - he’ll need all the help he can get if he  _ really _ thinks he can beat me at chess.”

Blaise snorts, and the two agree to draw up some logistical plans for the chess tournament. She wonders if she might be able to arrange a match between Malfoy and herself so she can defeat him in front of the entire school and gloat about it to his smug face.


	14. Chapter 14

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Exercise routine: ongoing - since adding in pushups, she has actually started to see her arm muscles!  
-Attend another boring quidditch game: pending, Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff  
-Convince the entire school that she is not a whore: in progress

She has seen some progress on her final bullet, partly thanks to Ron defending her honor so much, but also partly due to Lavender stealing credit for the fight at the Three Broomsticks. She certainly doesn’t mind the attention being focused elsewhere, but she feels poised and ready for another assault. She is just not sure from whom to expect it.

She shifts slightly in the chill of the November air. Fall was always her favorite season, though as the days get colder, she notices the effects of her old battle scar. The curse Dolohov had thrown at her at the Department of Mysteries had - after a rather terrifying recovery period - been healed, and she supposes she should be grateful that the only remnant is a bit of a pain in her chest when the weather turns. Even warming charms seem to have only a limited effect, so she goes the muggle route - layer upon layer upon layer of clothing.

“The prophecy - if we can even call it that - seems to indicate there are four heirs,” she explains to Harry and Ron, trying to distract herself from the dull ache as they make their way to the quidditch stadium. “And they will - or already have - come together to protect the school. Or some other castle, I suppose, it’s awfully vague.”

Harry frowns dubiously. “Well, we know Voldemort is Slytherin’s heir - and I rather doubt he’ll be speeding over here to protect Hogwarts. In fact,” his voice lowers. “I expect he’ll be mounting an attack here. I’m not sure when, but - I can  _ feel _ it.”

She looks at him with concern for a moment. “Well...I will say this - it is possible to change an heir, you know. The monarchy used to occasionally displace the heirs apparent if they wanted it to be someone else who they favored. We know Voldemort won’t protect the school, but maybe someone else will? Some new heir in the line of succession?”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Who would that even be?” Ron asks grumpily. “Look at the Slytherins we have to deal with - slimy gits, all of them! The only tolerable one is Zabini, and even he’s a giant, boring, slimy git. It’s awful. Hey, maybe Harry can be the Slytherin heir! That’d be - well, not very funny after all, I suppose.”

Harry scowls at him gloomily.

“Inter-house unity, Ronald,” she reminds him. “Not all Slytherins are bad and you know it. In this prophecy, all the houses work together to protect the school!”

“Bah, you  _ just  _ said you thought the prophecy was dumb,” Ron waves his hand dismissively. “Well - wonder who the Gryffindor heir is? You know, for what it’s worth, Mum always said she thought we were descendants of his on the Prewitt side.”

She rolls her eyes, having had this argument numerous times with him in the past. “Just because your Mum  _ says _ something doesn’t make it true.”

“Well  _ you’re _ definitely no heir of Gryffindor - too bookish, you are, probably wouldn’t even be able to lift up that sword. Why are you even on about the capstone so much - we still have the rest of the year to do it!”

_ “Please _ tell me you’ve at least started the project, Ron!”

“We have  _ the rest of the year _ to do it!”

They bicker all the way to the field, with Harry accompanying them somewhat sullenly. She is quite sure that quidditch will be just the thing to temporarily cheer him up, though she can’t help but be worried about his comments from earlier.

An attack on the school could prove catastrophic. Fifteen professors and a handful of staff versus a coordinated Death Eater attack? How many aurors or Order members would be able to arrive in time? What are the numbers looking like - it seems that there are more Death Eaters being recruited than aurors. Even with Dumbledore present and a number of older students able to participate, it feels precarious. Not for the first time, she wonders if she should restart the DA meetings. Surely the Death Eaters haven’t been sitting around having tea and crumpets since the incident in the Department of Mysteries.

In any case, she is resolved not to depend on ‘The Four’ to save them from ‘invaders’ during ‘the night’ because honestly, of all the prophecies she has ever heard, this one has to be the most vague and ridiculous.

They file into their seats, and she is grateful to see that having something to focus on has turned Harry’s mood somewhat. He and Ron analyze the tactics of the two teams, coming up with potential game plans for their own upcoming matches. Zacharias Smith apparently has put together quite the competitive Badger squad this year.

The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw cheering sections are robust, and she finds herself looking around the stadium, somewhat bored.

When she glances at the Slytherin section, she is genuinely surprised to see Malfoy staring at her intently, trying to make eye contact. When she does, he gestures with his head towards the entrance of the stadium as though he wants to meet with her.

She frowns deeply. The capstone group had met briefly that morning, with no significant updates to report. McGonagall was in the process of helping her procure Gryffindor’s journal, and Michael was working with some of his Ravenclaw friends to solve the riddles guarding Ravenclaw’s journal (of which she was excessively jealous, yet unable to convince them to invite her to the Ravenclaw common room to help). Malfoy had no updates. Curious as to what could possibly have happened since then, she nods at him in acknowledgement and dips out of the bleachers. Ron and Harry are too engrossed in the match to pay much attention.

When she makes her way to him in the quiet entryway, she is surprised to see him looking somewhat concerned, running his hand through his hair stressfully.

“Malfoy,” she greets, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hullo,” he mutters distractedly. “You - look bundled up.”

She stares at him for a moment. She doesn’t particularly want to discuss her attire or her wound at the hands of a Death Eater with him, but he is certainly acting strangely. “I get cold easily. What’s going on?”

He shrugs, as always, but doesn’t lean in with the usual round of opening insulting banter (and there are such easy options, aren’t there? “Forgot that you’re a witch, eh Granger?” “Not so good at charms after all, eh Granger?” “How fitting that you’re warming up the muggle way, eh Granger?” and the like).

“I’ve received an owl from my father just before the match,” he instead replies curtly. “He informs me that he does in fact have one of old Slytherin’s journals.”

Her heart flutters in excitement, but she stills herself at his odd demeanor. He is more flustered than she has ever seen him act before. “Well - that’s great news. When might you be able to acquire it?”

“That’s the thing,” he replies hesitatingly. She thinks he looks like he might be rather ill. “He - well, he wants to meet with you before he’ll give it over.”

Her jaw drops in surprise. “Meet with me! But -  _ why _ ?”

He shrugs again, eyes looking rather intensely tired. “I’m - not sure. I don’t know.”

She hesitates too, immediately drawing up a hundred scenarios about how this is most certainly a trap. What if she goes and he’s hosting some sort of Death Eater revel? Well, that’s impossible, the Ministry has significantly restricted access to the Manor from her understanding. But - what if he wants revenge from the Department of Mysteries, and he AK’s her on the spot? Well, that’s impossible as well, as his wand was confiscated. But, what if -

She shoves those ideas out of her mind and shudders at the thought of meeting with the man, wondering if the book is actually all that important. Surely they can finish the project without it, yes? Prophecies are silly anyway - they should really be focusing on the arithmancy model instead.

“We don’t need to go,” Malfoy insists nervously, seemingly agreeing with her thoughts. “We - well, we probably don’t need the stupid book anyway. Right?”

“I - I’m not sure,” she hesitates, still somewhat overwhelmed. “I don’t understand, Malfoy - did you tell him something about me?”

He shakes his head slowly. “He still has contact here, you know? He’s on house arrest, but he can still get mail. Not packages, surely, but letters. He - I don’t know.”

Suddenly it hits her, clear as day.

She blanches. “You don’t think - oh Merlin, you don’t think someone told him about those stupid rumors about us, do you?”

He is even paler than usual, and she thinks that he has certainly considered the possibility.

_ “Oh _ ,” she sighs with a frown. “I…” she trails off, unsure of what to say.

Malfoy averts his eyes and they both blush deeply.

Lucius Malfoy wants to meet with her. Surely not to have tea and a book club. Was his intent to - what, if not murder her, then warn her to keep her filthy Mudblood paws off his son and heir? In exchange for a book! What a nightmare!

“We don’t need to go,” he repeats earnestly.

She observes him for a moment and hears the distant cheers of the quidditch watchers. He looks awfully nervous, and she almost lets herself think that it’s endearing. She shakes her head to clear it of such thoughts.

“Well,” she hesitates to meet his eyes as the cheers grow louder behind them. “The book would certainly be useful, but...I - I don’t know. I need to think about it.”

He nods enthusiastically. “Right, of course.”

She holds his gaze for a moment and blushes deeply again. “He’ll want to warn me to stay away from you, I suppose.”

If she’s not mistaken, he reddens further as well. “Maybe. No more love potions for you, okay Granger? Wouldn’t want my old man to bite it out of shock when he sees you lusting after me, yeah?”

She almost starts to smile at him but frowns as the cheers grow to a fever pitch. “I’ll let you know by Wednesday, all right?”

“Right, good,” he replies with a frown as well, glancing over his shoulder.

The cheers start to sound more like a thousand shrieks.

They make brief eye contact, eyes widening, before they turn and sprint up the entryway to the pitch when they see it. He holds an arm out to stop her from moving forward, and the entire student body starts to descend on them in a panicked escape.

There, high above the quidditch pitch in all its horrifying glory, is the Dark Mark. 

“What-” she breathes, gaping at the symbol in awe. An actual Dark Mark! She needs to - do something, she needs to find McGonagall, and look for Blaise and organize the students, and find Harry, and-

“Granger!” snaps Malfoy, grabbing her wrist and tugging her with him as the rampaging students approach. She gasps as they run along with the crowd, thinking - yes, escape first, and  _ then _ plan.

He lets go of her wrist as they spill out onto the practice pitch with the rest of the students, and she looks around in a hurry. The students are running and screaming in a panic, and she spots Blaise in the distance, making her way towards him and losing Malfoy in the process.

Blaise looks positively stupefied.

“Blaise,” she snaps at him. “Blaise!”

He looks at her in a daze, and she can tell he is shocked.

“Look - Blaise, we need to organize the students, okay? I’m going to cast the curfew spell - you gather as many prefects as you can, and get a count of the students.”

He nods but doesn’t move.

“It’s important,” she stresses. “A real Dark Mark means - well, it usually means someone’s been killed, doesn’t it? We need a headcount of the students. Okay?”

“Right,” he nods again, starting to snap back into action, but his jaw drops again as he gazes past her towards the stadium.

“What now,” she murmurs, turning behind her - and then she sees it and her jaw drops as well.

“Hermione!” shouts Harry, running up to her. “Thank goodness you’re alright - where did you go?? We were so worried-”

“I - was in the loo,” she replies quickly, not wanting to get into the insanity of Malfoy’s update. “But - Harry,  _ look _ .”

Harry follows her gaze and his eyes widen in surprise.

She, Harry, and Blaise watch as a huge, blue, smokey eagle - roughly the same size as the Dark Mark - rises high in the sky. The eagle  _ screeches _ and the ground  _ shakes _ beneath them. 

“What the hell,” mutters Harry breathlessly.

The eagle raises its talons and swoops towards the Dark Mark-

She tears her eyes away and prepares for the curfew charm. “Blaise -  _ go. _ ”

Blaise nods, shaking, and turns to gather the prefects.

The curfew alarm sounds but is nearly drowned out by the panicked screams and the loud screech of the ghostly eagle.

And then - the eagle’s talons strike true and the Dark Mark recoils, letting out a mighty howl that she is sure will haunt her nightmares for years to come.

The next few hours pass in a blur. Between gathering the prefects and confirming the safety of all students, she finds herself feeling rather run ragged, eventually collapsing in a heap in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office.

Blaise is seated with her, looking similarly crushed. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape are in the midst of an intense discussion with the aurors who arrived to investigate, and she just wants to go back to the common room and fall into blessed sleep.

“Miss Granger,” Dumbledore interrupts her reverie with a light smile, handing her a lemon candy. “You and Mr. Zabini should be commended for the swiftness of your response at the stadium today. You must be exhausted - I expect this should help perk you right back up.”

“We don’t have time for a candy exchange,” snaps the familiar looking auror standing next to Dumbledore. Dawlish is his name - she remembers him from fifth year, and briefly wonders if he has any relation to Helen, who they had interviewed for the capstone project.

“We have time for that which we make time for,” Dumbledore responds simply.

Dawlish huffs. “You, girl. You were spotted with the Malfoy boy at the time of the incident. You saw him cast it, yes? Williamson! Where’s the Malfoy boy now?”

The second auror in the room, a thinish man with a ponytail, shifts on his feet. “Tonks went to fetch him. Should be here soon.”

She gapes at Dawlish, darting her eyes between him and Dumbledore quickly. “Sir, I should say-”

“The wards are weakening at the castle, Dumbledore,” says Dawlish gruffly. “I’ll be sure to let the Minister know about this development.”

“Sir-” she tries again, but Dawlish points a finger at her aggressively.

“Later,” he snaps. “Williamson - take notes. We need to do this by the books if we’re to bring the boy in.”

Zabini shifts uncomfortably next to her.

“Sir, I insist!” she interrupts hastily, as the door opens and a purple-haired Tonks walks in with a grumpy looking Malfoy. She avoids eye contact with him as best she can. “I was with Malfoy at the time the Dark Mark was cast - he certainly was not the one responsible, I promise you that.”

She can feel Malfoy’s eyes on her, and Zabini’s, and all of the adults in the room, and she blushes.

“Bah,” Dawlish waves her off. “Let me guess - defending your boyfriend? What were you doing away from the field then?”

“He’s - not my boyfriend,” she mumbles, uncomfortably aware of all the eyes in the room focused on her. “We’re working on a project together and he had some updates.”

Dawlish dramatically rolls his eyes. “Well, boy?” he asks, turning to Malfoy. “Is that true? You snuck out of the game to snog your girlfriend and cast some dark magic, didn’t you?”

Malfoy shrugs, looking rather annoyed. “It’s as Granger says - we’re working on a project. She was giving me a right earful for missing a deadline. Detain me for not doing my homework if you like, Mr. Auror - I’m sure my capstone team would be pleased.”

Tonks grins lightly next to him.

Dawlish scowls at him and looks prepared to launch a retort, but is interrupted by Dumbledore.

“That will be quite enough, Mr. Dawlish,” he says authoritatively. “You’ll not question my students in such a manner. Miss Granger is the Head Girl, and Mr. Malfoy a prefect. They’ve both taken oaths to uphold the standards and guidelines of the school, which include honesty and integrity. Remember that this is a place of learning, Mr. Dawlish, and we should be grateful rather than suspicious when our students actually do their coursework.”

Dawlish scoffs grumpily. “Right - a Death Eater pretends to play nice, and you’re the first in line to defend him?”

Malfoy pales and looks down at his feet, and she almost wants to walk over and give him a comforting hug. He looks every bit his seventeen years of age.

“Mr. Malfoy is no Death Eater, I assure you,” replies Dumbledore lightly. “And you’ll find that all students and faculty members are accounted for. With no serious crime having been committed, I believe we will take the investigation from here, Mr. Dawlish. You’ll give my regards to the Minister, will you?”

Malfoy looks up at Dumbledore, surprise evident on his face, clearly not having expected to be defended so by the Headmaster.

Dawlish gapes at the Headmaster for a moment. “I - well, I’m sure the Minister will not approve.”

“He is welcome to come to Hogwarts and take up the argument with me himself. Good evening, gentlemen.” Dumbledore smiles, clearly dismissing the auror team.

Dawlish huffs, spinning on his heel with Williamson shortly behind. Tonks remains in the office, shit-eating grin on her fact.

“Wotcher, Hermione!” she grins. “Look at this - I got to meet my wee cousin for the first time tonight, and didn’t even get to arrest him. Shame, that.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Right, of course you two know each other. Nice to meet you too, coz. If you’re not arresting me, can I go?”

“Charming fellow,” Tonks laughs.

“Severus - perhaps you can escort Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini back to the dungeons? And Auror Tonks - if you don’t mind extending your stay in the castle, I’m sure Miss Granger could use the company.”

All parties agree, and Malfoy levels her with such an intense stare before departing that she shudders.

She glances over her shoulder at the Headmaster before following Tonks down the hall and thinks that while he handled the aurors well, he looks  _ tired _ , and not for the first time she wonders what the fight outside the school has been looking like. Hoping to glean some information from Tonks, she rushes forward to follow closely.

“Oy - are you dating my cousin then, Hermione?” grins Tonks. “He’s a rather surly sort, isn’t he?”

“Honestly - I’d fairly forgotten you were related. Not sure how, what with all that Pureblooded inbreeding.”

“Cheeky!” laughs the auror. “Seems like his grumpy attitude is rubbing off on you a bit. How long have you been dating?”

“I am  _ not  _ dating him!”

“Well, he was staring at you hard enough when you defended him that I could nearly see little hearts dancing above his head. I’m sure he’d be quite happy if you asked him out!” Tonks giggles as they make their way down the corridor.

Hermione sighs, really not wanting to get into this topic. “Well, I’m not going to. I have enough troubles lately, haven’t I? Dark Marks, and now giant eagles - have you seen anything like that  _ thing _ from the stadium out there?”

Tonks glances around and lowers her voice. “We’ve been seeing those symbols popping up all over the place. You know, the one that looks like an eye? No incidents of violence however, so it’s a lower priority. Haven’t seen anything like that eagle in the sky before though.”

“No violence,” she repeats with a frown. “Have there been other Dark Marks? Why would they cast one  _ here _ , and why today?”

Tonks hesitates. “Hermione - look, there are ears in the walls here. It’s almost the holidays. I’ll give you details when I can, but for now just keep your head low, yeah?”

She sighs deeply and nods. “Sure, Tonks.”

“And - well, you might want to be a little careful about sneaking around with my baby cousin,” she grins, happily snarking again. “Boyfriend or not, the boy attracts attention - and  _ enemies _ .”

Tonks’s warning chills her as they reach the Fat Lady, and they bid each other a friendly farewell.

When she arrives at the girls dormitory, she is surprised to see a worried Lavender waiting for her, looking concerned.

“Oh, Hermione!” the girl gasps, swooping forward to embrace her in a tight hug.

She stiffens, unused to such affections from her roommate. She absently notes that she has seen Lavender and Parvati partake in such ritual friendliness over the years, but she herself has never exactly expanded into such camaraderie outside of Harry and Ron, and occasionally Ginny.

“All right, Lav?” she asks, awkwardly patting the girl’s back.

“I’m just glad you’re okay!” Lavender insists, somewhat dramatically. “We were all so worried when we looked around for you when the Dark Mark appeared - how dreadful - and you were gone!”

She frowns and steps out of Lavender’s embrace with a prediction of where this conversation will turn towards. “Well, I’m fine, thank you. No one was injured so far as we can tell, and the aurors have departed.”

“Thank goodness,” the girl breathes heavily, before smiling lightly. “Ron was quite worried after you, you know.”

She sighs heavily, very much ready to end this conversation and go to sleep. “Oh?”

“He was. But - of course, when we heard that you had snuck away to be with Draco…” Lavender’s eyes glint almost conspiratorially.

“I didn’t-” she raises a hand to her forehead in an attempt to forestall a headache. “We were talking about our project, that’s it.”

Lavender grins and winks. “Of course you were!”

“We  _ were,” _ she insists in response. “You know I’m not actually with Draco, don’t you? I know you’ve been  _ telling _ everyone that it’s true, but it’s not, and it never has been - and it never will be.”  _ Particularly if Lucius Malfoy murders me, _ she thinks with a deranged laugh - with everything else going on, she hasn’t had any time to process that particular turn of events. 

Lavender rolls her eyes dramatically. “Oh come on, Hermione - we all see the way you two make eyes at each other. If you’re trying to have a secret romance, you’re doing an awfully poor job of it. I’d have thought you would have had enough practice over the years, honestly!”

Exhausted though she is, she starts to feel her blood boil. _ “What _ are you talking about?”

Lavender laughs - actually laughs! - at her snidely. “It’s fine, Hermione, we’re friends aren’t we? You don’t need to be cagey around me.”

“I  _ do _ need to be cagey around you, it appears,” she snaps. “You told the entire school that I’ve been slagging around with Malfoy! Not to mention Harry, Seamus,  _ Ron _ , and half the other boys in the school!”

Lavender gasps, eyes narrowing. “Well, of  _ course _ I told them about Malfoy - you were fairly snogging by the library, I was just telling everyone what I saw! That others - well, I had nothing to do with that, and frankly I’m a little insulted that you think I did!”

She scoffs. This conversation was stupid from the start, and has somehow gotten stupider. “Sure, Lav - everyone knows you’re the biggest gossip in this school, but right, I’m sure you’ve had nothing to do with it. I’m  _ sure _ you weren’t jealous of the fact that Ron and I are close, and you surely didn’t enact some deranged revenge scheme to convince the school that I’m some sort of whore.”

“I certainly did not,” huffs Lavender angrily. “But I’ll tell you what - I absolutely believe every single thing they’re saying about you. We all see the way you hang around the boys, Hermione, we’re not blind - hanging all over Harry like you do, constantly holding hands with Ron and hugging Seamus. And now Draco? If you’re concerned about your reputation, perhaps you’d better think about how unladylike you act!”

She clenches and unclenches her fist in frustration, thinking she is not sure what to believe here, and she’s tired, and she doesn’t need Lavender rallying all the Gryffindor girls against her at this point. “Well, to hear them say it, all the boys are fighting after you now, aren’t they?”

Lavender at least has the decency to blush at the mention of the fight.

“Lav - look,” she sighs. “I’m tired. It’s been a trying day. I’m going to go to sleep before I say something I’ll regret, and I suggest you do the same.”

“Well, before I do, let me tell you one thing - you’ll stay away from Ron, won't you? Promise me you will?”

“I don’t  _ want _ Ron,” she snaps. “But he’s my friend, and I certainly won’t stay away from him just because it will make you feel better.  _ Good night, _ Lavender.”

It’s true, she thinks as she flops heavily onto her bed, that she doesn’t want Ron. Not like that. There had been a time, maybe, when it would have made sense, but not anymore. But if she doesn’t want Ron, then what does she want?

She wants to slap Lavender silly, that’s what she wants! Who needs men when one can simply resort to slapping their roommate?

As she tries to settle in and lull herself to sleep, a pair of steely grey eyes appear unbidden in her thoughts, but she pushes them away.


	15. Chapter 15

Her list continues to be as frustrating as ever.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, though they’re back to being gits again  
-Convince the entire school that she is not a whore: backwards progress - apparently, she and Malfoy were doing the deed while he cast the Dark Mark, according to rumors  
-Investigate the Eye of the Eagle’s newest iteration: in progress - if they are a force opposing the Death Eaters, then what might that mean?  
-And HOW did they do it? To be able to conjure such a thing was a feat in and of itself, let alone have it somehow be able to attack the Dark Mark!  
-Investigate the Dark Mark occurrence itself: stalled; who could possibly have cast such a powerful curse? Surely not a student. But if not, then who?   
-Professor Snape? Unlikely, with Dumbledore’s steadfast support  
-There were a lot of Hogwarts donors present for the game: one of them, perhaps? Unlikely, as it was a Ravenclaw vs Hufflepuff game, and she feels like she is grasping at straws  
-Help Gryffindor win the inter-house chess tournament: in progress  
-Avoid getting murdered by Lucius Malfoy: ugh

At least the chess tournament is off to a smooth and fun start, with no glowing glyphs of dubious intent in sight. The cheering section is a quite bit smaller than for the quidditch matches of course, but she is confident she saw Seamus managing to find a way to sneak some firewhiskey into the Great Hall for himself whilst spectating.

They have structured the tournament such that each house can have twelve participants, and each player will play four games with one hour time limits - one against every house, including their own. There will be one individual winner (with tiebreakers prepared in the event of a tie), and one house champion.

She has always enjoyed chess, to an extent, although it has consistently bothered her more than she cares to admit how rarely she is able to defeat Ron. While she may not have the natural tactical proficiency her friend possesses, she has devoted a bit of time to memorizing certain helpful patterns to use during the game’s opening. She tends to build a strong defense and capitalize on weaknesses as they present themselves, although with Ron’s quick analysis, he is often able to use tactics and general sneakery to defeat her.

As she moves her knight to capture a nearby pawn, she smiles politely at her Hufflepuff opponent Ernie Macmillan (who is so clearly unaware of his pending doom in three moves) and she thinks about the events of the last week.

Harry and Ron had been predictably upset with her once the word got out that she had been with Malfoy at the time of the Dark Mark incident (“It wasn’t like  _ that _ ! Besides, shouldn’t it be a  _ good _ thing that we can cross someone off our suspect list?” “Nothing about him is  _ good _ ,” Ron had sputtered indignantly, “especially the part about how you’re always sneaking around with him lately!” “What, you’d rather I was sneaking around with  _ you _ ?” - she had obviously been referencing how the three of them used to wander the school under Harry’s invisibility cloak, though with Ron’s reddening ears he had clearly interpreted her comment in another fashion).

She was annoyed enough at the boys that she didn’t even bother to mention the arrival of a slew of new anonymous notes detailing her general whorishness, once again, including the usual vulgar drawings.

Additionally, the boys had been stressed by the fact that she was not able to provide any real updates about the Dark Mark or The Eagle (which she is absolutely refusing to call Hawkeye, as some students have started doing), although they were somewhat mollified to hear about the presence of Tonks - particularly her promise to provide details over the holidays.

“Check,” she says, ordering her bishop across the board with a smile after Ernie had very predictably but very stupidly captured her knight. She relishes Ernie’s dumbfounded look of surprise.

The capstone project, on the other hand, has taken an interesting turn. She had been leaning towards encouraging the group to move on from the vagueness of the prophecies, but since having acquired and reviewed Gryffindor’s and Ravenclaw’s writings, she begrudgingly agreed that there might be something worth pursuing outside of the scope of their original project plan.

The Museum of Medieval Magicks had been quite unwilling to part with Gryffindor’s journal, although McGonagall had helped her acquire a transcription of the passages of note for the group. She focuses on one section that appears to be defining some sort of spell, complete with illustrations.

_ After numerous attempts, it is quite clear - Praesidium Moenia, performed thusly, and on the fourth turn there shall be strength and peace for one thousand years. Litha is the preferred time, when the light is strongest yet weakest. _

Litha, the summer solstice. Nothing they can do for now.

“Checkmate,” she finishes off Ernie with a grin.

“Good show, Hermione,” Ernie replies genially, shaking her hand, as is customary at the end of a match.

Rowena Ravenclaw’s journal has easily been her favorite of the three thus far, and she had stayed awake late into the night exploring its contents. Unlike Hufflepuff’s excessively vague prophecy and Gryffindor’s somewhat unclear commentary, Ravenclaw’s notes clearly and concisely describe a magical ritual - and more importantly, in a manner that doesn’t rhyme. The ritual of protection is to be performed at the apex of the structure - here, the astronomy tower certainly - and set up in such a manner that four wizards are equidistant from each other.

_ With the magic amplification properties of Salazar’s new favorite toys, I expect when placed thusly upon the pedestals of fire ( _ pointing to a sketched diamond surrounded by complex arithmancy formulas _ ) and if the four are of a high enough magical potential, the ritual will inevitably be successful. _

Salazar’s new favorite toys - she somewhat dreads finding out the particular details about that. Gruesome images of ritually sacrificing muggles in all sorts of horrifying contraptions spring to mind.

It is quite clear that the journals contain important writing, so the previous Wednesday she had tentatively agreed to a nervous Malfoy to meet with his father. Neither of them were particularly enthusiastic about the prospect, despite a growing interest in the prophetic content.

She has been keeping an eye on him throughout the week. The boy still operates on a spectrum of smirking indifference to bored indifference, but she could swear he seems a bit shaken by both the pending meeting with his father, and the incident at the quidditch stadium. Most of the student body has been glaring at him throughout the week, sure that he must have had  _ something _ to do with the Dark Mark. However, he seems even less chummy than usual with his housemates, socializing mostly with Pansy and occasionally Blaise if at all. She is surprised to note that Crabbe and Goyle seem to be regarding him with suspicion, and she resolves to try and use the trip to Malfoy Manor to find out what is going on down in the dungeons - assuming she doesn’t get murdered by Lucius Malfoy, of course.

The object of her thoughts, naturally, is her next chess opponent. She decides to focus on defeating him first, and then bragging about her victory before grilling him while they travel to the Manor. 

“Take your seats, students,” announces Madam Hooch, having agreed to referee the event. There have been zero instances of legilimency to report thus far, thankfully. “The next match will begin in two minutes!”

Malfoy slides into his seat across from her with a light smirk. “Granger,” he greets confidently.

She resolves not to be distracted by the whiff of his cologne in the air.

“Malfoy,” she agrees, glancing around briefly to note that nearly all the eyes in the Great Hall are focused on them. Huffing in annoyance, she glares around the room until most of the students avert their eyes. Honestly, these people! She can hardly be in the same room as the boy before an entirely new slew of rumors crop up. Somehow, she expects, the stories tomorrow will make this match out to be the steamiest chess match in history.

“Ready, set, begin!” announces Madam Hooch with a flick of her wand, starting the conjured clocks.

She is playing as the white pieces and moves first, ordering her king’s pawn forward two squares.

“Playing it safe already, Granger?” he asks quietly with a grin, as his queen’s bishop’s pawn forward.

She  _ does _ play safely, as a general rule, so she refuses to engage him in banter along those lines just yet. They play the next few moves quickly, establishing solid starting positions, quietly listening to the sounds of murmured chatting and marching chessmen throughout the hall.

She has both her knights near the center of the board when he has a kingside pawn move forward one square, and she frowns at him, a little annoyed at herself for not predicting his opening maneuvers. “The Dragon variation, really?” she rolls her eyes at him.

He grins cheekily. “Of course!”

She sighs - the Dragon, she recalls reading at some point, is a highly aggressive and tactical opening. Certainly not her favorite to play against, as it can be deeply difficult to deal with as the opposing player, though it does open itself to several weaknesses on the king’s side.

They play through the next several moves in silence, though she is keeping a close eye on (his eyes, focused and grey as a storm at sea) his bishop, extremely worried that she has underestimated him and he has some tricks up his sleeve like Ron always seems to.

He castles his king and rook, and she is debating doing the same when he leans forward and speaks in a very low voice. “I’ve arranged for our trip to the Manor after the tourney today. We’ll take the floo from the Hog’s Head directly to the Manor - ideally without being spotted by too many curious observers, yeah? Bring something to cover your face - or at least that  _ thing _ that’s living atop your head. I don’t need any more problems than I’ve got right now.”

She glares at him -  _ he _ doesn’t need more problems! “Oh yes, I’m quite sympathetic to your problems,” she snaps in a whisper. “Meanwhile, I’m back to being the school whore this week, thanks ever so much for being no help whatsoever dispeling those particular rumors.”

He chuckles lightly, much to her chagrin. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard that you managed to claim me back from Brown. Lucky you!”

She continues to glare daggers at him. Feeling a tad aggressive, she decides to change up her plan and instead of shuffling her king off to safety, moves her king’s knight’s pawn forward, forming a fairly intimidating wall of pawns supported by her bishops.

He quirks an eyebrow at the board and studies her move for a moment, before casually instructing his queen’s pawn to move up a square.

She prepares to tell her pawn to move forward and attack his knight, but pauses mid-command, looking more closely at the board.

“Who’s to say I don’t  _ want  _ those rumors at this point, hm? I could use the good reputation points I’d surely get from being associated with you. It hasn’t exactly been a walk through the park for me this week, Granger,” he insists, clearly trying to distract her into making a mistake.

Aha! He doubtless wants to draw her into overextending herself, ultimately losing the slight initiative she gained through her aggressive play. Instead she attacks his bishop, and he retreats. She stews on his words in silence for a moment, sure that he hadn’t meant anything by the first bit. She refuses to dwell on it and risk making any tactical errors.

They play a few more moves before she responds, only interrupted by the clattering sound of Susan Bones’s king loudly throwing it’s crown to the ground in resignation next to them.

She accidentally does dwell on his comments for a brief moment.

“I don’t doubt it, though a little acknowledgement that you’re not the only one with problems might get you far in life. Besides - clearly if we were  _ actually  _ ‘associated’ in any way, reputation-wise you would win, and I would lose, wouldn’t I? No thank you.”

She moves a pawn forward, hoping to trick him into taking it with his own pawn, envisioning a series of moves that ends with her in possession of his rook.

He spots her little trick easily, capturing her pawn with his queen instead. Ignoring her second point, he comments only on the first. “Far in life, eh? Clearly I’m much more likely to be a professional chess player than you are, Granger. These are some adorably obvious tricks you’re attempting.”

She scoffs, annoyed, and moves her bishop to offer a quick exchange of queens and reduce the amount of tactics available to him, and to give herself a positional advantage. “Don’t forget Malfoy, we’re still finalizing our arithmancy formula for the capstone. I fully expect it to predict that you’ll be able to avoid playing chess ever again, and slide seamlessly into being a professional rich person immediately after graduation.”

He ignores her offered queen, instead moving his own across the board to sit right in the middle of her carefully positioned pieces. She almost laughs at the appropriate metaphor for how much of a thorn in her side he has been this year.

“I think we can both agree that I will make an  _ excellent _ professional rich person. I have a large list of frivolous things to buy, I’ll show you some time. I promise it would turn your reddish boyfriend fairly green with jealousy.”

She glares at his queen suspiciously. He is nearly offering his knight to her for free, and she scans the board desperately in search of whatever his plan is. There is  _ no way _ he would just let her have the knight for free, but she can’t see any particular reason not to accept it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she replies distantly, looking up and watching his face closely for a moment. He stares right back at her, eyes steely and intense, and for a moment she is thrown back to a few weeks ago when she couldn’t stop gazing at the boy, and smelling him, and dreaming about him, and all that awfulness. Shuddering in mortification, she is sure that the love potion antidote never quite settled in properly, as there are still moments when she looks at him and - well,  _ blushes. _ She tries to tell her heart to stop thudding so heavily, sure that he can hear it.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she glances around the room. Most of the other games have already finished - she notes Ron’s happy face as he defeats Anthony Goldstein with the mighty smash of his queen - and a small number have gathered to watch the end of her match with Malfoy.

She captures his knight, and he grins, the glint in his eyes making her uneasy.

“One interesting thing about Wizard’s Chess, Granger,” he drawls, moving his second knight forward. “Is that black is always at a natural disadvantage due to moving second. Everything I do in this game is dependent upon what you do first.”

She stares in surprise at his knight - another piece, seemingly given away for free! She squints at him closely. “I don’t think that’s true. At the very beginning, perhaps, but you can develop your own stratagems to catch up. You moved your bishop into the Dragon position specifically seeking tactical advantage, for example, which had nothing to do with me. It sounds like you’re just making excuses for why you’ll lose.”

He cannot possibly win here, can he? Not unless she makes a serious blunder, which she is quite confident she will not do. She captures his knight with her bishop, and he smirks again, and she wonders if and how far beyond just chess this conversation has journeyed - or if, per usual, she is misinterpreting him. For some reason, she finds herself thinking about the expectant look on his face when he was hauled into Dumbledore’s office and interrogated by aurors the previous week.

“You’re missing my point,” he insists, moving his queen over one squre. “Check.”

She studies the board closely, ignoring the whispers of the students behind her. She certainly won’t move her king up, as he would inevitably checkmate her two moves later, but surely he has to know how obvious the trap is.

She moves her rook forward to block his attack. “And your point is what, exactly?”

He moves his queen to the back row and attacks her king again. “Check.”

She frowns at him, telling her rook to move back again to block his queen. 

He moves his queen again to the exact previous spot, checking her again, and her frown deepens. “My point, Granger, is that sometimes the best outcome a player can hope for is simply not to lose. Check.”

Faced with the same position, she only has two options - move her king and get checkmated, or continue to block his attacks with her rook, stuck in a deeply annoying never-ending series of checks.

She moves her rook one more time.

He grins cheekily and checks her again. “I can do this all day. I overfloweth with stamina, I’ll have you know.”

She huffs at him, deeply annoyed at the fact that he is not even trying for a victory, but acknowledging that he has certainly managed to stop her from winning. A tie, then. Her plans for gloating about her victory for the rest of the school year vanish before her eyes.

“A draw?” he offers his hand to her tentatively, still smirking.

She really dislikes him sometimes, and it’s usually when he’s smirking at her. “ _ Fine _ , draw,” she snaps, accepting his proffered hand quickly (he squeezes hers strongly for a moment and she orders herself not to blush) and dropping it before the nearby students can giggle about the physical contact.

She glares after him as he saunters away, resolving to come up with some way to annoy him before the day is over.

Ideally, not in the form of getting murdered by his father on his drawing room floor, however.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that too much chess? If anyone is curious, the chess part was based on a 1936 game, Alexander Alekhine vs Mikhail Botvinnik, notes by Alekhine.  
> Lucius is up next! Thanks for reading if you've made it this far, hope you're enjoying the story!


	16. Chapter 16

Despite the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach stemming from her pending meeting with the Malfoy patriarch, she manages to pull herself together and defeat Colin Creevey (rather easily) and a grinning Terry Boot (more difficultly) for a decent record of 3.5 wins. Tied with  _ Malfoy _ , the cheeky git.

Ron swept the tournament to achieve first place honors, and was a little miffed at her for not wanting to go out and celebrate with him (“Well, as long as you’re not running off with  _ your boyfriend  _ again,” he had snapped grumpily, to which she blushed and awkwardly mumbled something about having to study, but that she would try to swing by).

The Ravenclaws won the house cup (smaller than the quidditch cup, but still nice enough for whatever trophy case they have in the common room), as predicted. The lot of them cheered enthusiastically as it was announced, particularly the seventh year boys. Michael had performed quite well himself with three wins, and when he made eye contact with her and grinned broadly she found herself feeling fairly proud of him. Better the Ravenclaws than the sneakily clever Slytherins, she thinks to herself.

In the hour she has before meeting Malfoy at the Hog’s Head, she gets a few things in order for her departure. She connects briefly with Blaise to close out the end of the chess tourney and compliment its success. She runs to her room to leave a hastily scrawled letter explaining her whereabouts, charming it to be invisible for one day in order to reveal itself should Lucius Malfoy murder her in his home. She grumpily ties her hair down into a tight braid, thinking that Malfoy’s point about not being identified was a good one.

In any case, it is awfully cold and snowy out, so she covers her braided hair with a crimson hat and wraps herself tightly in her Gryffindor scarf, hoping to draw strength from them for this encounter.

The wind is bitingly cold, and her murmured warming charm does nothing to stave off the painful ache in her ribs. She hopes that the awful weather will encourage students to stay inside the castle and reduce the chance of her and Malfoy being spotted.

She shuffles hesitantly through the snow into the inn, glancing around quickly before identifying Malfoy near the back, his iconic hair shoved under a dark green hat.

There are no more than half a dozen patrons, none of whom seem to pay them any particular mind, for which she is grateful. When she gets to the table Malfoy is seated at, she raises a dubious eyebrow at the two shot glasses in front of him, his fingers wrapped around one of them intensely.

“Granger,” he greets with a low voice, seeming nervous again as his eyes dart up to her. “You’re always so bundled up. Forget how to cast a warming charm, did you?”

“It’s a long story,” she replies lamely, not wanting to get into it. “So you’re having yourself a happy hour, is that it?”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he gestures to the shot glasses. “These were supposed to both be for me, but if you need any liquid courage…?”

He clearly expects her to reject the offer and scoff at him, but she  _ is _ nervous and could use whatever courage she can get. Plus, it’s  _ cold _ and her chest aches and she really doesn’t want to risk getting murdered whilst entirely sober. 

She shoots the firewhiskey and shudders as it burns it’s way down her throat, and he sort of smiles at her but it looks much more like a grimace.

“Right, good. Well, you owe me a drink now,” he offers with a stressed out laugh. “Come on then.”

He leads her to a room in the back with a fireplace and procures the floo powder.

“Wait- Malfoy,” she hesitates.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Backing off?”

She shakes her head. “No. I just - he doesn’t have a wand anymore, right? He…”

“No, he doesn’t,” Malfoy answers succinctly, face tightening.

Exhaling heavily, she nods, trying to tell her stupid heart to calm down and stop beating so heavily.

“Ladies first?” he offers, and when her eyes widen he laughs shakily. “Kidding, Granger. Follow me.”

He gives her some floo powder and steps into the fireplace, clearly announcing his destination, and she stares after him as he disappears in a flash of green.

Her heart is ready to make an escape from her chest, and before she can run back to the bar to order another shot of firewhiskey or escape to the castle, she steps into the fireplace and takes a deep breath.

“Malfoy Manor,” she announces precisely before being whisked away in the green fire.

When she emerges, she appears to be in some sort of parlor and is surprised to be greeted by not only the nervous face of Malfoy, but also by his mother, Narcissa Malfoy, looking somewhat stone-faced.

She swallows heavily and regards the woman as she steps out of their fireplace. Having seen Mrs. Malfoy from a distance over the years, she had long considered the woman to be elegantly attractive in that haughty Black way - similar to but more fair than her sister Bellatrix or her cousin Sirius. Seeing her up close does nothing to alter her opinion, and in fact only solidifies it further.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa greets politely, if a little coldly. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor.”

“Thank you,” she replies hesitantly, unsure of the protocol. How to greet someone whose husband might try to murder you over the course of the evening?

“My husband is preparing to greet you in the study-”  _ preparing some sort of murder ritual? _ “-and will be ready to see you shortly. Would you like any tea in the meantime?”

She thinks another whiskey might be preferable, but is confident that it may be a breach of etiquette to ask. “Please, that would be lovely - thank you.”

“Very well, a house elf shall bring your tea shortly. Draco - you’ll show Miss Granger to your father’s study, yes?”

“Of course, Mother,” he replies swiftly with a tight smile.

His mother gazes at him for a moment and smiles gently, and she immediately feels as though she is intruding on some unspoken conversation and wrenches her eyes away until Mrs. Malfoy departs, nearly gliding out of the room.

Her heart thuds heavily in her chest.

“You’ll, ah, want to get rid of that ash all over you, I expect,” Malfoy mumbles before gesturing to a nearby couch.

“Right,” she agrees distractedly, banishing the ash from the fireplace and removing her coat, which Malfoy awkwardly but politely takes from her before they both have a seat. 

They sit in silence, watching each other for a moment, and from the twitching of his leg she wonders which one of them is actually more nervous.

She jumps at the apparition pop of a house-elf appearing suddenly in front of her, bearing tea. 

“Miss is to be having tea!” announces the creature enthusiastically, offering the cup of warm liquid to her.

“Er- thank you,” she replies, although she is suddenly struck by a thought that the tea may be poisoned. She has a brief internal debate about which is more preferable in that moment - death by tea, death by Lucius Malfoy, or simply having a spot of tea and a chat with Lucius Malfoy. They all seem equally terrible.

The house-elf gapes at her in awe. “Oh,  _ you are welcome _ , Miss!” he squeaks before disappearing with a sharp crack.

She jumps at the noise, struggling to contain her tea in the teacup.

“The house-elves aren’t exactly used to being thanked,” Malfoy offers from the comfortable looking chair across from her. “You’ve just made old Mopey’s year, I expect.”

“Mopey,” she repeats with a stifled laugh. “That’s - well.” She thinks about mentioning that the name sounds almost like it could be one of Snow White’s dwarfs, and then her mind charts out an imaginary conversation in which she explains Disney animated movies to a very perplexed Malfoy, so instead she just shrugs awkwardly.

“Nervous?” he asks, watching her quietly.

“Maybe,” she admits. “Might’ve used another nip of firewhiskey before coming here. You?”

“I could always use a nip of firewhiskey,” he replies with a nod.

She remembers the last time she saw Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry in fifth year when everything went so horribly awry, and she glances around the room distractedly. There is another comfortable chair nearby, a few bookshelves, and the small table in front of her looks more expensive than anything her parents had ever owned growing up. “This - is a nice room.”

“Right,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair. “Thank you. The rest of the house is - also nice.”

“Maybe being a professional rich person wouldn’t be so bad?” She is apparently so nervous that she cannot even bring the teacup to her mouth without spilling it, so it clatters in the saucer awkwardly.

He seems equally uncomfortable. “Right,” he says again. “I’d obviously have to add more rich person things to this room, eh? It could use a gold clock or two.”

“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” she replies, forcing a smile and trying to breathe.

He nods distractedly.

She decides that she has done more than her part of carrying on a conversation, and if he’d like to continue the attempt at distracting themselves then he can make an equal effort.

Taking the hint, his mouth quirks in a tight smile. “Well, I can’t run around mixing potions to cure all your troubles you know. Not enough money in it.”

Her laugh is more of a jittery hiccup. “Oh, I don’t know, I seem to be getting hexed an awful lot these days. If you start charging me, you may yet be a self-made man.”

His grin lasts for a moment before fading quickly, and the conversation seems in danger of stalling again.

“You made the hair-hex antidote yourself, didn’t you? The, ah, love potion antidote as well?”

He nods and regards her curiously.

_ ‘Well you screwed the love potion antidote up, you dolt!’ _ she wants to tell him, flushing faintly when she remembers the strange bouts of indecent feelings she gets about him and his stupidly muscular shrugging shoulders and his intense eyes and his rare laugh.

“You’re fairly talented at potions,” she says instead, holding his eyes. “You developed the hair-hex antidote on your own?”

He shrugs (as always!) and nods. “It was easy enough.”

She laughs lightly, trying to let herself momentarily forget about her pending doom. “Easy enough to deconstruct a complex hex and create a tailored antidote from scratch? That hardly sounds easy!”

“Well, it was. I’ve occasionally gotten better marks than you at potions, you know - believe me, I’ve kept watch.”

So has she, though she doesn’t want to admit that to him.

“What of it?” he continues.

She hesitates for a moment before persevering. “Well, you’re taking NEWT level potions. I was thinking-”

Mopey reappears with a crack and she cries out briefly as she spills her tea in surprise. “Master is being ready to be seeing the Miss now,” he announces enthusiastically.

She and Malfoy watch each other, and she thinks he is a mirror of her expression as they are suddenly commiserating in desperate silence together. She quickly banishes the spilled tea and rises.

He leads her out of the parlor and down a long hallway. The hallway is filled with portraits of his ancestors, many of whom glare sullenly at her on her way past them.

He hesitates at a door at the end of the hallway and regards her seriously once more. “Last chance to back out, Granger. It’s - just a book, isn’t it?”

“Gryffindor, remember? Bravery, et cetera.” She tries to keep her voice from shaking.

“What you lot call bravery, the rest of us call foolhardy,” he replies with a sigh, but he opens the door and as he walks through with her she almost wishes she could grasp his hand.

Lucius Malfoy’s study is very much unsurprising to her. She glances around quickly, noting the tall bookcases and the mahogany desk near the back of the room. Seated at the desk in a large, expensive looking green chair is the man himself.

She takes a deep breath and observes him. The last time she saw the man, he had tried to make sure she and her teenaged friends  _ died. _

_ “Be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy,”  _ he had said.  _ “You can kill the others if necessary.” _

Kill the other  _ children _ !

She shudders deeply at the memory of that night. The man looks perhaps a bit older than he used to - and more tired. But he still possesses the same grandeur that had so intimidated her as a girl. His ability to glower nearly puts his own son’s to shame.

“Well, here we are. The famous Miss Hermione Granger.” He says her name slowly, as if savoring every syllable, and she feels decidedly more anxious than ever.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she greets awkwardly, suddenly feeling an inexplicable urge to stand closer to Draco. “You have a lovely home,” she continues after a moment.

The son shifts uncomfortably next to her.

“Indeed, I do. I understand from my son that you wish to acquire a book from my collection,” Lucius continues smoothly, his face a mask of aggressive haughtiness, and for all she thinks they might look alike, she is convinced she has never seen the boy wear such a dangerous face. 

_ “We _ do, yes,” she replies with a nod. He has no wand. It’s okay. She gently taps the wand in her pocket and reminds herself that she is in some amount of control here.

She briefly explains the scope of their project, in addition to the notes from the three founders. Despite her heart trying it’s best to make an escape from her chest, she manages to more or less maintain a steady voice and is eloquent enough in her explanation.

Lucius watches her closely for a moment before turning to his son. “Draco, I shall speak with Miss Granger alone. Please leave us.”

She straightens and looks at Malfoy, whose eyes widen as he looks back and forth between his father and herself.

_ “Now,” _ Lucius nearly growls.

Malfoy catches her eyes just long enough for her to subtly nod at him. “Yes sir,” he mutters before departing, leaving her alone with the man who has been heavily featured in her nightmares over the years.

She has learned enough lessons from scary Slytherins this year and keeps her hand near her wand, wondering how adept at wandless magic the man is, and how long it would take for the Ministry to detect his magic use before raiding the Manor, and how long it would take them to break through the estate wards versus how long it would take him to murder her, and suddenly she really wishes Draco had stayed with her.

“Miss Granger,” Lucius says, voice deep and very serious. “I am sure you are aware of this, but it has come to my attention that you and my son have become...romantically connected,” his lip curls in disgust at the concept.

Her eyes widen. Oh god. He’s going to murder her. “I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, those rumors are false.”

“Oh?” he smiles bemusedly, though his eyes flash dangerously. “You’re here to ask a favor of me, yet you will treat me as a fool in my own home?”

“Not at all.” Her heart is about to explode. “I am not romantically involved in your son, nor have I ever been.”

“And you never will be?”

She frowns at him deeply.

“Do not think that just because I am trapped in the prison of my own home, Ms. Granger, that I do not receive any information from the outside world. I have heard quite a few reports of your attachment to my son. Not to mention what I just witnessed - if you were just  _ some Mudblood  _ from his classes as he claims, he would have had no qualms obeying me and departing my study. And yet, not only did he not heed my command, but he even looked to you for approval before departing. And yet here you sit, claiming to be entirely uninvolved.”

She inadvertently flinches at the slur, but cannot think of a response to that. Thinking back she is retroactively surprised at the younger Malfoy’s subtle actions.

Lucis’s eyes narrow. “Tell me, then, did you start the rumors yourself, if indeed rumors they are?”

An image of Lucius Malfoy exchanging gossip with a giggling Lavender Brown comes unbidden to her mind, and she almost lets out a laughing sob. “I  _ did not _ ,” she snaps, having had this conversation enough times with enough people to at least partially know what to expect. “Why  _ would  _ I?”

Lucius barks out a terrifyingly harsh laugh. “They tell me you are an intelligent young woman, Miss Granger. My son is far above your station by birth, wealth and status. Being advantageously connected with him, in reality or merely in rumors, might give others  _ ideas _ about you and your kind. Not to mention the fact that  _ sullying _ himself with you will certainly have a negative influence on my ability to find him a proper Pureblooded wife.”

She blanches and levels him with a hard stare, feeling not a little ill. “Believe me, Mr. Malfoy - these rumors have caused me nothing but a headache all year. I have absolutely nothing to gain from the association, nor is there anything I desire out of it. You are of course free to find your son a wife without any influence from  _ me _ .”

Lucius seems simultaneously pleased and irritated with her response. “I have a simple request, Miss Granger. I have something that you desire. I will give it to you in exchange for one thing - just a simple promise.”

She watches him closely, feeling far out of her depths but trying to contain her emotions and reveal nothing to him.

“You say that you are not romantically involved with my son. I ask that you promise me, here and now, to never enter into such an arrangement with him. If you can do that, the journal is yours.”

Her jaw drops, because for all her preparation she could not possibly have predicted such a request to ever have emerged from Lucius Malfoy’s mouth. 

He watches her intently for a moment, and she can see a muscle rippling in his cheek as he clenches his jaw. “Well, Miss Granger?”

“It’s just  _ a book,  _ Mr. Malfoy. I am not inclined to be bullied into making a promise to you of any sort, regardless of the content.”

Lucius raises an eyebrow haughtily at her. “Ah, I see. So you  _ do _ intend to ensnare my son then.”

“I never said that,” she huffs, feeling her courage rising with her temper, suddenly caring less than a whit about the capstone project. “I merely said that I refuse to be coerced into promising you a thing. Ask Draco to make such a promise to you if you wish, because I will do nothing of the sort.”

“Disrespectful child! I’ll disown him, you know,” Lucius replies with a calm sneer. “If you pursue him, he will be penniless.”

She scoffs at him, heart thudding faster and faster. “You misunderstand my character, it seems, Mr. Malfoy. I am  _ not _ pursuing your son, as I’ve already been quite clear about, but if I ever did decide to do so, it certainly would not be for his money. Now - you have in the span of one conversation called me a liar, a golddigger, and insulted my parentage. Would you like to add anything else before I take my leave?”

Lucius studies her for a long moment with a glint in his eyes, and it infuriates her more than anything his son has ever said or done to her. A deeply unsettling smile starts to slowly form on his face. “Not at the moment, Miss Granger. Please, storm out of my study as you will, and send my wayward son to see me.”

She does storm out, but  _ not _ because he told her to. She shuts the door and immediately smashes into the younger Malfoy in the hallway.

“Hey?” he steadies her gently as she stumbles into his arms and collapses against him heavily.

Oh, not again - she prays not to have a breakdown in his arms once again. She shudders out a heavy gasp against his chest.

“All right? Did he  _ do _ anything to you?” His voice is quiet, almost dangerous.

She shakes her head quickly. “He  _ really _ believes those rumors about us, Draco,” she laughs nervously, flicking her eyes up at him, heart racing from the encounter.

Malfoy doesn’t respond, but doesn’t let her go. His stupid spicy yet foresty cologne is almost comforting to her at this point.

She sighs, stepping out of his grasp. “He didn’t give me the book, and I don’t expect he will. He wants to see you. I - may have been slightly disrespectful,” she admits.

“I believe it,” he replies with a quiet laugh before sighing and turning towards the study. He glances back at her for a moment, eyes almost gentle as he rests his hand on the door. “You can head back to the parlor, if you like - Mopey has prepared more tea for you. Try to get some in your mouth this time instead of on your lap?”

Tea which she is quite sure will be poisoned by now, if it wasn’t before, but she nods at him. With a grimace, he turns the door and walks into the study.

The trip back down the hallway is fretful, full of muttering ancestral portraits clearly displeased with her presence in the Manor. When she arrives in the parlor with her head spinning, she is excessively surprised to see Narcissa Malfoy sitting down with a cup of tea in her hands. She schools her features again, aware that she is still flushed with anger from her encounter with Lucius.

Narcissa smiles in a tight, cold sort of way and gestures for her to sit for tea.

She is too strung-out to refuse, so she moves to sit down, watching the woman carefully. If she has to have yet another conversation with a Malfoy parent about dating or not dating their son, she might just make like one of Luna’s exploding snabberwitches, and poor Mopey the house-elf would have to clean up little Hermione bits off the parlor room ceiling.

“I understand from my son that you have excellent marks, Miss Granger. The best in your class.”

She is deeply uncomfortable to discover how often she has been a topic of discussion in the Manor amongst its inhabitants. Oh goodness, what might Draco make of the fact that she refused to promise his father to never date him? Hopefully not as a sign that she  _ does _ want to date him, which she assuredly does not.

“Your son has given me quite a challenge in potions,” she replies, opting for politeness.

Narcissa smiles proudly. “Yes, I expect that is so. Draco has always been quite gifted at potions.”

A picture of a young Draco, with his stupidly adorable slicked-back hair, playing in front of a cauldron springs to her mind and she smiles lightly at it. 

“May I ask, Miss Granger, what sort of work you expect to pursue after your graduation from Hogwarts?”

She hesitates at that, curious why the woman is trying to get to know her, but also because throughout the year she has been getting more and more unsure of the answer. The options are plentiful, surely, but - as much fun as it would be to work with magical creatures or study wizarding law, the appearances of Dark Marks has been convincing her that the war will only increase in seriousness. What if she is unable to pursue any of her dreams because she gets pulled into soldiering alongside her friends? Wherever Harry and Ron go, surely she will be right beside them, trying her best to keep them alive and out of trouble.

And - might she be fighting against anyone from the family whose Manor she is occupying?

“I’ve not decided yet,” she replies instead. “It’s a rather difficult decision.”

“Well,” Narcissa’s smile reaches her eyes and her face seems surprisingly kind for a moment. “You still have plenty of time, and plenty of options I’m sure.”

She smiles back hesitatingly. 

The woman watches her closely, and after a beat continues cautiously. “My husband is very protective of his family, and he particularly wants what is best for Draco.”

She can feel herself color as she thinks about the intensely awkward experience of trying to convince Lucius Malfoy that she was not, in fact, secretly dating his son in an effort to steal his fortune, and there would be no need for disowning of any kind. “I’m sure,” she agrees lamely.

Whatever else Narcissa was planning on adding is lost, however, when the boy himself storms into the parlor angrily.

“We’re leaving,” he snaps at her and she balks at the sharpness in his voice.

“Draco-” starts his mother, eyes narrowing in concern.

“I’ll owl you, mother. Good evening.” Without sparing her another glance, he steps forward and disappears into the floo.

She gapes after him in surprise, before turning back to Narcissa and quickly offering her an uncomfortable farewell. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Malfoy,” she offers, with some amount of feeling behind her words.  _ Thank you for anything you might have said to convince your evil husband not to murder me _ , maybe might have been more accurate?

Narcissa nods with a sad smile ghosting upon her face. “Do take care, Miss Granger.”

She follows Malfoy through the floo, emerging behind him at the Hog’s Head with her defences raised. She has seen him in this mood often enough, and is equally prepared for him to be upset at her as at his own father.

He sighs heavily as she emerges, thrusting a heavy book at her. “Here.”

She hardly has time to dust the ash off herself before gaping at the old journal now in her hands. “He gave it to you!” she gasps in surprise. “I had thought - I was sure that he wouldn’t.”

Malfoy shrugs deeply, eyes hard. “Well, he did.”

The book even  _ smells _ old, and she positively cannot wait to start reading it, but seeing his face causes her to pause. “...Are you all right?”

He nods curtly before pursing his lips together tightly. “Tell me something, Granger.”

She hesitates at the look in his eyes, but nods slowly. “Tell you what?”

“Before my father called for us, we were talking about potions. You started to say something about me taking the NEWT level class. Did you want to finish that thought?”

She tries to sort through all her jumbled thoughts. Between her extremely uncomfortable conversations with each Malfoy family member throughout the evening, she is feeling rather harried. She remembers exactly what she had been planning to say, but thinking of the commentary from his parents is giving her a slightly different take on the topic.

“Yes, I do,” she says slowly, watching him closely for any reaction. “I was going to say that if you decided not to go the route of being a professional rich person, then perhaps - well, you have quite a talent for potions. You might consider an apprenticeship with a potioneer. Or studying alchemy, or even helping healers develop treatment potions. There are - well, there is  _ more _ out there, I suppose that was my point.”

She is staring down at her feet by the end, each sentence making her feel more mortified as she thinks about his father’s threats to disown him. She is sure that her alleged romance with him was not the first threat of disowning - surely, it must be a possibility whenever he disappoints his father, and that means having a backup plan might actually be important for the young heir.

“Mmm,” is his only reply, but he is looking at her thoughtfully.

They walk out of the inn together after she bundles back up in her heavy cloak. 

“We’d best not leave together,” he says abruptly, despite the fact that they have already departed, and quite together.

“Right,” she responds dubiously. “Well - I’m going to the Three Broomsticks. I expect Ron and them will be out celebrating. He, ah, won the chess tournament, remember? I believe I predicted that one.”

He scowls, and she is happy to see him more or less return to a normal countenance. “He got lucky he didn’t have to play  _ me.  _ Besides, you predicted you’d beat me, as I recall.”

She smiles, shivering and shifting uncomfortably in the cold. “Yes, another strike against divination I suppose. Well - good night, Malfoy.”

His eyes are intense and she wants to drown in them for a moment, but she turns away.

“Good night, Granger,” she hears from behind her, and it warms her far more than any warming charm could have done.

She trudges away from him towards the Three Broomsticks, arriving much to her dismay at the same time as Ginny is stepping out. Ginny, who looks at her curious to know why she’s coming from the non-Hogwarts direction, and then looks over her shoulder to see a departing blond head.

Ginny’s jaw drops for a moment as she gapes back and forth between Hermione and Malfoy’s retreating form before breaking out into an obnoxiously huge grin.

“Fun night, Hermione?” the girl beams most devilishly.

She brings an exasperated hand to her forehead. “This  _ really _ isn’t what it looks like.”


	17. Chapter 17

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, as ever  
-Try not to strangle Ginny: in progress  
-Sort through what to be confused about and what to be embarrassed about when it comes to Draco Malfoy: in progress  
-Try to avoid any sort of permanent embarrassment at the Yule Party: unlikely  
-Read Salazar Slytherin’s journal: complete  


Not strangling her dear friend Ginny seems like the most difficult item on the list, certainly. She had managed to wrangle a promise of secrecy out of the girl, at least, before filling her in on the details of her strange interaction with the Malfoy clan.

Ginny politely managed to only giggle rather than outright guffaw at her tale of nearly getting murdered by Lucius Malfoy after not promising to keep her feminine wiles away from his son.

She had to backtrack somewhat to explain the love potion incident (“But who did it? I’ll bet it was my wanker of a brother, he was too shy to woo you like a man!” Ginny had giggled, before settling into a more concerned state of mind, and reaching the same conclusion that it could really have been anyone, disturbingly). 

“So, what you’re telling me is that so far this year, despite occasionally acting like the prat we know him to be, all Draco Malfoy has done is go out of his way to protect you? That’s - well, incredibly odd, but frankly - there’s a reason all those rumors about you and him caught on so quickly. Everyone sees the way you two ogle each other like mooncalves!”

“There has been no ogling of any sort,” she had insisted.

“There certainly has been, it’s disgusting actually. And - he keeps helping you! Even after you kept accusing him of things, and spying on him, and that sort of thing. How do you feel about all that?” Ginny had asked thoughtfully.

She hadn’t known how to answer that. A part of her wonders how Malfoy had managed to convince his father to give him the book, and if he had sworn some Unbreakable Vow to never date a muggle-born. It bothers her to think about it, to an extent, and she doesn’t quite want to put a finger on why that is.

Surely, she and Malfoy getting together romantically was never actually an option, despite all rumors to the contrary. And surely, even if it was an option, she certainly had no actual interest in him. And surely, even if she did have an actual interest in him and his stupid shrugging shoulders, there was no way that  _ he _ would be interested in  _ her. _

For Merlin’s sake, while she was under the effects of the love potion and was nearly throwing herself at his feet, all he had done was stand around awkwardly.

Which - was actually a  _ good _ thing, right? If he had taken any sort of advantage of her in that state, it certainly would have been disturbing.

But honestly, she would have to reach excessively far to convince herself that there has been zero flirting or attraction on both of their parts. Right? Was there honestly a chance that she  _ did _ like him?

Ginny had gaped at her lack of response. “Hermione - do you  _ like _ him?”

Did she? How ridiculous!

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she had snapped, but a part of her acknowledged that she was certainly spending an awful lot of time being confused about him.

The possibility of his father having told him about her refusal to refuse to date him fills her with even more anxiety than she would have thought possible. How would the boy himself interpret such an act? It really was more of a protest against Lucius than it was expressing a desire to be with him, she is sure of that.

She tries to make a list to help sort out whatever she is feeling, though it only serves to keep things as muddled as possible.

-Draco Malfoy does not like her - FACT  
-Draco Malfoy likes her enough to stop her from getting hexed or attacked - FACT  
-Draco Malfoy likes her enough to tentatively disobey his father about something trivial - FACT  
-Draco Malfoy does  _ not _ like her enough to not swear to his father never to date her - UNCLEAR

She decides she is being absurd and lights her stupid list on fire.

Spending time near him is no help whatsoever. At their next capstone meeting, his leg brushes against hers under the table and she nearly leaps out of her skin. Had he done such a thing on purpose? Did it  _ mean _ something?

She rolls her eyes at herself in a huff, resolving to go back to tried and true tactics - pointedly ignoring him. The whole confrontation with his father simply has her spinning, that is all. What she really needs is to make it through the next week to Christmas holidays and spend two weeks far away from the stupid boy and his stupid nice hair and his stupid smirking face.

Focusing on something useful for a change, she shares the details from the Slytherin book with the group. Hannah and Michael regard Malfoy in surprise when they find out he had procured it (one in delighted surprise, the other far more dubious), and the boy shrugs, naturally.

“I think that this part here is what we’re looking for,” she gestures to a passage in the fairly odious journal. Old Slytherin had not held back in his blood purity beliefs one iota, and she had felt an urgent need to shower after reading the horrid thing. However, it had been worth it enough for the one relevant passage in which he discusses Hufflepuff’s dreams and Ravenclaw’s ritual.

_ Helga and Rowena entered my dream, and we practiced the ritual together there. Folly indeed, though not without its merits. Rowena knew something was missing, as I’ve claimed all along. The four indeed, though their magic alone is not powerful enough and it must be amplified. The stones of power, one for each founder, are the key, and when used by proper wizarding folk the effects will be tremendous. _

Proper wizarding folk! Far from the worst of his insults, but still scoff-worthy. She additionally reflects on the “entered my dream” aspect with some unease.

“Brilliant,” sighs Malfoy dramatically. “Now we get to go on a scavenger hunt for some magical stones. Unless you already found them for us, Granger?”

She shoots him a glare. Good, that’s a familiar action, at least. “Not yet, but I absolutely intend to.”

He grins at her. “Oh, I don’t doubt it, of course.”

A compliment? Or just a regular observation? Ugh.

Michael tilts his head as he shifts heavily in his seat. “Stones of power... _ wicked!  _ He doesn’t describe what the stones look like at all though. Seems like they could be anywhere. Or anything, really.”

Hannah smiles lightly. “Well, we managed to find four journals, didn’t we? If we work together, I’m sure we can find the stones too!”

They all nod politely at the girl and hold their tongues.

After the meeting, Malfoy doesn’t sprint away as he usually does, rather meandering towards a nearby bookcase, presumably to look at books. Unless - maybe he wants to spend more time near her, maybe? No, certainly, just looking at books.

She huffs into her textbook, annoyed mostly at herself, when she notices Michael has stayed behind as well.

He smiles handsomely at her. “Hermione - I’d slap myself silly if I don’t try to ask you out again. Want to go with me to the Yule party?”

She hesitates awkwardly, trying to think of how best to phrase her response.

_ I’d love to, but I’m sorting through strange emotions about the scariest member of our capstone group at the moment. _  
_ I’d love to, but your father doesn’t want to murder me, and so far as I know that is a pre-requisite for my interest at the moment. _  
_ I’d love to, and you are quite handsome and smart and kind, but you never glower at me intimidatingly or hold me after I crash into you or punch other boys who make me uncomfortable or make me feel every different kind of confusion. _  


“I’d love to, but - see, I rather thought Ginny was hoping you would ask her,” she settles on answering with, delighting in the opportunity to have both a perfect excuse  _ and _ revenge herself upon her dear friend. “She’s my very good friend, you see, and I would hate to cause her any hurt on my account.”

Michael’s eyes widen in surprise. “Ginny! Really! Well, she and I broke up ages ago though.”

Sensing he might ask her again anyway, she offers him a tight smile. “Well, yes, anyway, there’s sort of a - you know, a code amongst women for this sort of thing. But I  _ am _ grateful that you asked me, I mean that.”

His emotions clear off so quickly from his face that once again she is struck with the thought that he must have some sort of occlumency training, and resolves to ask him about it sometime (though perhaps not so immediately after rejecting his romantic advances).

“Right. Well, maybe I’ll be able to convince you to have a dance with me, at any rate.”

“Er - yes, well, maybe.” She catches Malfoy’s shoulders shrugging up and down in what is most assuredly a laugh from the bookshelf over.

Michael departs with a parting glare at Malfoy.

Determined to  _ do something _ she snatches the journal up and storms over to the object of her stressful thoughts most grumpily. 

“Something funny, Malfoy?”

He looks down at her with a smirk. “Your hair, or your suitor? Both, I’d say.  _ Dance with me, Granger,” _ he laughs.

Ugh. Poor Michael.

She scowls at him before shoving the book into his arms. “Well, we have what we need from this awful book, I’ve transcribed the relevant passages. You can return it back to your doting father if you like.”

“Awful book, eh? I take it old Salazar was explicit as ever about heritage.”

“You should give it a read in full - it might give you some new material for insulting me.”

“Bah - I have enough material as it is, I don’t need help from anybody else,” he grins.

Cheeky bastard. She cannot decide if he is flirting again, and decides to assume that he is not. Or  _ is _ he?

“Lucky me.” She hesitates and watches him for a moment, feeling her heart flutter in an annoying sort of betrayal. She is not sure she wants to know the answer to her next question, but she decides to put her bravest foot forward. “I must say, I’m rather curious how you convinced your father to give you the journal in the first place? I was under the impression he was rather put out with me.”

He keeps his grin in place, though she thinks it tightens somewhat. “You don’t think he might’ve just wanted to subject you to all the new ways to insult you?”

“Old ways, more like, and I expect he would have had no concerns simply telling me himself.” 

She tries to read him but can glean nothing, and she feels inclined to storm away in frustration. He took the vow that she couldn’t bring herself to, obviously, and she feels a bit of a hollow pit in her stomach.

He seems to sense her imminent departure and starts to speak, pale cheeks coloring slightly. “My father, ah, told me about what he’d asked of you.”

She blanches and looks down at her feet. Maybe she should just obliviate herself of all Malfoy-related experiences? They tended to all be at least somewhat mortifying. Yes, that’s the answer - a quick obliviate on him followed by one on herself. “Oh?”

“It was - inappropriate of him,” he continues diplomatically. “I apologize on his behalf.”

Her blush deepens and she could  _ swear _ her face is on fire. “Oh.”

“I expect he was rather surprised and maybe a bit impressed with your refusal to um, you know.”

Ha, let him blush this time! She briefly recalls observing a conversation once between Neville and Hannah in which it appeared both parties had consumed a handful of cinnamon pepper imps, and she is a tad indignant that she and Malfoy are performing no better here with all the ridiculous blushing going on.

_ “Oh.” _ She wants to slap herself for the ineloquence, so she perseveres. “So - let me guess, in exchange for the book he made you take a vow to hex me weekly through the end of the school year?”

“Daily, actually, so do watch what you say,” he smirks again, twirling his wand in amusement. “Actually Granger, there were no vows at all, I’m afraid. He just gave it to me and made me promise not to spill anything on it.”

“...I see.” She cannot help the stupid smile that springs onto her face.

“Right, well - see you at the party then,” he averts his eyes at her smile and rushes away.

Well then! She - is not quite sure how to process the fact that neither of them made a vow to not date each other. To be fair, she assumes that neither of them have ever made such a vow about anyone - for example, she would just as equally never make a vow to Harry not to date Neville. So, all is quite normal, most probably, and nothing has changed at all. Or possibly, it’s entirely not normal, and everything has changed.

The Yule party begins with herself and Blaise encouraging the prefects to be vigilant - for if there is another incident, McGonagall has promised most seriously to cancel the Valentine’s Day events, Spring Equinox party, Beltane celebration, and even restrict the upperclassmen’s Hogsmeade visitation privileges and weekend passes.

For both the young Death Eaters and Eagle Eyes, the prospect of an entire semester restricted to the grounds would surely be a severe punishment, and she hopes it is enough to at least postpone the next inevitable incident.

The Yule party is not as formal as the ball held during fourth year, but has become a bit of a tradition for students exhausted from the semester to relax, somewhat. Unlike the Halloween party, teachers and students of all ages were welcome to attend, and even Seamus was not going to risk spiking the punch bowl.

She finds herself hovering off to the side, very much wanting to not be dragged into any misadventures and just reach the holiday break in peace. Harry comes over for a chat, crooked smile on his face.

“Looks like you’re having fun,” he offers.

“Does it? I’ll have to fix that - I intend on having no fun whatsoever tonight and getting involved in zero hijinks. If we can fast-forward to the holidays at the Burrow, I’ll be grateful.”

He laughs lightly, taking in the room. “Maybe we can just fast-forward to graduation and escape without having to deal with the school getting attacked.”

“Well, about that…” She briefly fills him in about the update from Slytherin’s journal. 

He raises an eyebrow at her curiously. “Oh, very good. So we just need to hunt down some magical stones in order to save the school, possibly.”

She remembers Malfoy saying something similar earlier in the day and blushes somewhat.

“How did you even get your hands on one of Slytherin’s journals?”

Her blush deepens. “Oh - er, Malfoy had one. Well, his father did.”  _ And there is still a chance that his father either wants to murder me, or might possibly be amused by the possibility of me dating his son. But probably murder. _

Harry rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

She interrupts him before he can dive in, nodding in the direction of a group of Slytherin classmates (not including a certain obnoxious blond). “Speaking of Slytherins, any progress with that one?”

He looks over and cringes upon seeing Pansy. “Well, depending on how you define progress...nope, none whatsoever.”

She laughs and slaps him lightly on the arm. “You should just ask her to dance tonight. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Are you serious? The worst that could happen is all those Slytherins over there beat me up! I’m not keen on getting punched in the stomach again by Goyle, thank you very much. Nearly threw up last time.”

“Such bravery. Well, you’re welcome to be boring and hover grumpily against this wall with me. Besides,” she continues, gazing at a couple newly arrived on the dance floor. “We can’t all expect to be as lucky in love as our dear friend Ronald.”

Harry groans. “Hermione, please just kiss him or something and break them up? She calls him Ronniekins, and I’m not sure what to do about that.”

After a bit more complaining about poor Ron and Lavender (“They’re constantly snogging on every surface in the common room! It’s unhygienic, really!”), she eventually convinces him to at least try to have a chat with Pansy, noticing that the rest of the Slytherins are starting to scatter across the room. Besides, she assures him that the prefects are on defensive mode, on account of McGonagall’s threats.

He cringes at her before departing. “Fine - but if Goyle does punch me, I’m blaming you.”

She leans heavily against the wall as she watches the room for a time, certainly not looking for anyone in particular. She is thinking it may be just a tad too cold in the room as her chest is starting to familiarize her with its dull ache when Ginny approaches her with a pout.

“So, apparently I still fancy Michael, do I?”

She grins at her friend. “Remember how you’ve done nothing but make fun of my romantic entanglements all year? Revenge is mine, you see.”

“That’s all you’ve got, is it? I promise you I will get even better vengeance upon you before this silly party is over,” insists Ginny. “For what it’s worth, I played along and now have at least two dances with Michael scheduled for the evening. Awfully rude of you.”

“Oh come on,” she laughs lightly. “He’s a nice boy. Besides, Harry quite dislikes him, you know.”

“I don’t rightly care who Harry likes or doesn’t like.”

“Mmm, of course you don’t.”

“It’s true! Besides - if you think Michael is so nice, why don’t you have a go? Waiting for your true love to emerge from the dungeons?” Ginny bats her eyes enthusiastically.

She cringes, having been caught looking around the room again. “Absolutely not. I intend on dancing zero times today, you know. I just want to get through this night and make it to the holidays without having pig’s blood dumped on me.”

Ginny frowns at her. “Pig’s blood? What sort of hex would that be?”

She laughs and launches into the explanation of a muggle prom-themed horror story to pass the time - and to distract Ginny from an amused looking Pansy Parkinson leading a blushing Harry onto the dance floor. She sees Ron and Lavender near them, with Lavender leaning closely into Ron’s chest and Ron gazing longingly over her shoulder at Pansy. 

She vaguely wonders if Seamus and Dean might enter a betting pool on how long her dear roommate’s relationship will last, but decides to perhaps not be so petty.

She sees Michael approaching and Ginny cringes. “Well - here goes nothing.”

“Ladies,” greets Michael with a polite smile and a tilt of his head. “Hey, Hermione. All right there?”

The three of them make small talk for a few minutes about how well the evening is progressing, and how good that one song is, and she certainly isn’t glancing around the room distractedly looking for a stupid boy who has yet to make an appearance.

After a few minutes, Michael invites Ginny to dance, and Ginny agrees - but before leaving, she looks over Hermione’s shoulder and her grin is positively disconcerting.

“Sure, one moment Michael. Oy, Malfoy!”

Her heart slams against her ribcage, and when she glances behind her she sees the boy approaching them, eyebrow raised in confusion, likely at being beckoned over by Ginny of all people. He looks awfully nice, wearing a fitted button down black dress shirt over black slacks. His hair, of course, is as annoyingly perfect as ever.

“Revenge is mine. Mwhaha,” whispers Ginny dramatically before looking up at Malfoy.

“Weasley,” he greets before glancing around the group. “Absconding with half my capstone team, are you?”

He smells really nice and she takes the opportunity to glare at Ginny violently.

“Just the one,” Ginny grins, taking Michael by the arm. “The other one’s all yours - and she was  _ just _ saying how much she’d like to have a dance. If only she had a partner!”

With a final diabolical wink, Ginny drags a morose looking Michael towards the dance floor before Hermione can murder her.

Malfoy emits something of a chuckle and leans against the wall next to her. “Subtle, that one,” he observes.

“Subtle as a stampeding erumpent,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Nice of her to distract Corner for you, at any rate. So - shall we?” he gestures towards the dance floor.

She raises an eyebrow in surprise at him, heart fluttering obnoxiously. “Don’t worry, Malfoy - I certainly am not looking for a pity dance.”

“No? Well - how about a regular dance, then? Of the non-pitying variety.”

She blanches and gapes at him as her heart tries to make an escape from her chest. “You’re serious?”

He shrugs and looks almost a little nervous. “It’s just a dance, Granger. It’s not a big deal, right? After all, you’re always going on about that Gryffindor bravery.”

She hesitates for a moment and wonders at that. With everything else they have been rumored to be getting up to all year, one dance is certainly not pushing the envelope. Sure, Harry and Ron might be miffed at her, but she could happily blame the entire thing on Ginny.

However, there is more to it than that - surely, with the rising Death Eater activity, the two of them having a casual dance in front of the entire school would be sending a loud message on both of their parts. The last thing she needs is yet another target on her back.

And of course, if the word makes it’s way back to Lucius, then certainly the probability of her own murder increases dramatically.

He looks down at his feet awkwardly and she feels badly for making him wait, so she plans on rejecting him. Politely, of course. 

“Sure,” she finds herself saying, against her brain’s wishes. “It’s just a dance. Come on, then.”

He smiles and her heart melts.

They walk out onto the dance floor, and she is sure that she is bright red as she feels the eyes of the entire room suddenly laser focused on the two of them. Even some of the professors are watching curiously.

The song playing is a somewhat slow one. She glances around quickly, taking in two Weasleys to her right (one looking devilishly pleased with herself, the other looking like he might explode in fury), and Harry with Pansy to her left (looking extremely dubious and extremely amused, respectively) before turning back to Malfoy, who awkwardly takes her right hand into his much larger one and rests his other gently at her waist.

She tensely places her other hand on one of his (constantly shrugging) shoulders, which she has spent far too much time observing recently.

“All prepared for battle, eh Granger?” he smirks slightly, starting to move with her.

“With you? Always,” she replies lightly, a little too preoccupied with taking in her surroundings than focusing on him (or gazing into his stupid pretty steel grey eyes).

He follows her gaze towards a table of Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle are watching them with fairly murderous expressions, and even Blaise is frowning deeply.

“Don’t worry about those blokes,” he murmurs, rotating them so that the group is out of her range of sight.

It ends up being no help, because rotating has allowed her to notice a table of Ravenclaws, including Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, glaring at them as well.

“Shall I worry about them, then?” she nods towards their table. “Seems remiss to not worry about anyone at all.”

He narrows his eyes at the Ravenclaw boys. “Hmm. I’d be more concerned about your lion’s den than that lot. Think Weasley’ll hex me or you first?”

His hand is warm on her hip.

“Clearly you - he knows I’m very talented at shielding charms.”

He smirks lightly.

“Is that why you asked me to dance?” she asks, settling in enough to tentatively tease him. “To make Ron jealous?”

His lips quirk upwards again. “You always suspect me of having a nefarious plan, you know. I may surprise you some day and do something simply because it’s what I want to do.”

She accidentally looks up into his eyes and smiles as the music swells. “Well, I always suspect you because you always act suspiciously! However - although I rarely enjoy being proven wrong, in this case I’d almost look forward to it.”

He grins and they hold each other’s eyes for a moment before she blushes again and looks away.

“Tell me something,” he starts as they sway together. “I’ve noticed you’re consistently uncomfortable in the cold. I’m fairly sure you haven’t forgotten how to cast a warming charm?”

She hesitates, glancing back up at him as he watches her curiously. “True, I’ve not forgotten how to cast a warming charm.”

“What is it then?”

“Well-” she hesitates, trying to predict how he will digest the information. “It was from - something that happened fifth year, at the Department of Mysteries.”

He frowns slightly, and she can see him internally asking himself if he really wants to know. Could his father be responsible? His father’s friends?

“Something that happened, eh?” he repeats, and she is a little surprised to hear it framed as a question.

She nods slowly and thinks she might be imagining it when he slides his hand slowly from her hip to her lower back, except for the fact that her skin is tingling along his hand’s path. 

He leans down close to her ear and murmurs quietly, “What happened?”

“It - was Dolohov,” she stammers, shivering as his hand comes to a rest. “I had silenced him, thankfully, but he hit me with some curse - nobody is sure what it was.”

She risks a glance at his face, and he is gaping at her incredulously. 

“Dolohov,” he repeats. “You’re telling me not only did you manage to silence him, but you survived a direct hit from a curse cast by Antonin Dolohov?”

She frowns, remembering the devastating pain that had been so severe that she could hardly remain conscious, and that had lingered for so long afterwards. Not wanting to dwell on it, she starts to pull away, but he holds her tightly and pulls her closer.

“Sorry,” he offers. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m just - impressed, is all.”

She sighs uneasily at the compliment, trying to relax in his arms but finds it quite difficult to do. Everyone is still watching them closely. Grasping for a topic to switch to, she finds herself glancing over at the Ravenclaw table again uneasily and settles on a less Death Eatery topic. “Draco - may I ask you a question?”

She can feel his shoulder shrug under her hand. “I can’t think of a force in the world that could ever stop you from asking a question.”

She can’t help but smile at that. “Are you still investigating the eagle eye?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Are you?”

She sighs. “You know, as recently as last month you accused  _ me _ of having something to do with that.”

“Right,” he agrees with a slight frown. “Well, my investigation has led me elsewhere.”

She  _ knew _ he had still been looking into it. “Where did it lead you?”

The music swells to a climax before silencing, and he holds her for a moment longer before letting go of her hand. She drops her own from his shoulder with a tinge of regret.

He smirks at her familiarly. “Thank the girl Weasley for me, I suppose, will you? See you around, Granger.”

He saunters off, far from blushing and back to exuding confidence, while she gazes after him with a sense of minor disappointment. That was - well, fairly nice, if perhaps more underwhelming for her than for the rest of the school whose eyes are still transfixed on her.

She straightens under their gaze, taking a cue from her dance partner and projecting confidence as she returns to her station against the wall.

The rest of the evening is somewhat uneventful. Nobody approaches her to ask about Malfoy, though she can tell they want to. She is sure to see a slew of new rumors, but she is surprised to find that she doesn’t quite care. Probably because it is close enough to the holidays, most likely.

That night, she has a strange nightmare. She is standing in a ballroom wearing the same dress she wore to the party, but she is entirely alone, accompanied only by strange hissing shadows.

_ Mudblood,  _ one of the shadows whispers in her ear, but when she spins around no one is there.  _ Mudblood whore! _

One of the shadows starts to wrap an arm around her waist as if to dance with her and she gasps herself awake, glancing around in a fright to ensure that she is actually alone. It had felt so real!

She suspects it was born of leftover stress from her encounter with Marcus Flint the previous month and wills her heart to calm itself, and she is able to eventually sink back into a peaceful sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

The trip to the Burrow was uncomfortable, to say the least, due to the Malfoy incident. Harry had sulked somewhat sullenly, despite the success of his finally mustering up a dance with Pansy. Ron was quite literally shaking in anger. Ginny, meanwhile, couldn’t stop grinning and egging on Ron in between casting pining glances at Harry.

Reuniting with the rest of the Weasley clan at the Burrow had the additional wrinkle of Mrs. Weasley being quite put-out with her, as the rumors about her and Malfoy had seemingly made their way all the way to West Country.

“He’s such an awful sort of boy,” Mrs. Weasley had insisted. “Particularly when there are so many  _ good _ ones around,” said with a sly glance in Ron’s direction.

She had swallowed her groans at the good natured interfering and managed to convince the Weasley family that no, in fact, she was not dating Malfoy and no, in fact, she would not steal Ron away from Lavender any time soon.

“No?” starts Fred with a grin. “Are you sure about that?”

“Because we’ve got a little love potion that might do the trick!” finishes George.

She shoots them a withering glare before launching into a passionate diatribe on the evils of love potions, much to their consternation.

After Ron and Harry tentatively stop being grumpy at her, the holiday break passes rather delightfully. Her parents come to visit for the weekend, and she is excessively grateful that at least two people haven’t heard about her romantic misadventures! That is, until-

“Well, he’s a very handsome boy,” her mother replies when an evil, conniving Ginny shows her a picture of Malfoy.

“Merlin’s pants,” she mutters, exasperated.

The highlight of the trip is finally being able to have a hushed discussion with a bright pink-haired Tonks, who sits down with herself, Harry, and Ron one evening.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m telling you this, alright? The Hogwarts wards are weakening,” Tonks admits quietly. “We don’t know when, but we expect there to be an attack.”

“On Hogwarts!” she gasps, not prepared to believe Hufflepuff’s silly prophecy. “But - surely, with Dumbledore present-”

“That’s the thing,” Tonks interrupts, mouth drawn tightly. “We’re concerned about an assault at the Ministry as well. If both attacks were to happen simultaneously - well, Dumbledore will go wherever You-Know-Who is.”

“And if Hogwarts is weaker than the Ministry, he won’t need as strong a force there,” supplies Ron thoughtfully. “He could launch a full assault on the Ministry, and there wouldn’t be enough aurors to spare for Hogwarts.”

“Ready to be an auror already, eh Ron? We’re desperate for strategists,” grins Tonks, to which she receives a deeply happy blush.

“What about the Dark Marks in the school?” Harry asks with a frown. “We - well, we thought some of our classmates might…” he trails off uncomfortably.

Tonks frowns even more deeply. “You think there might be student Death Eaters running amok.”

Harry nods seriously, sparing a quick glance at Hermione, who scowls.

“It’s - possible,” sighs Tonks. “Severus is helping investigate. Don’t you lot go telling anyone about this, understand?”

Hermione insists to the group that they cannot assume anyone is a Death Eater without evidence -  _ anyone _ , even their more suspicious classmates. She additionally resolves to herself then and there to restart DA meetings as soon as they return to school.

“You  _ would _ defend them,” grumbles Ron, and he is clearly still more grumpy at her than he let on.

“Ronald,” she snaps angrily.

Harry sighs heavily, and Tonks observes them curiously.

“Dancing with Death Eaters,” he continues. “Absolute rubbish. If you were trying to make me jealous or something, it didn’t work.”

“Make you jealous!” she gapes at him. “And snogging Lavender in front of me every chance you get is what -  _ true love _ ? Tell me,  _ Ronniekins _ !”

Tonks grins in amusement.

“Guys-” Harry starts.

“It’s  _ Malfoy _ for Merlin’s sake! I don’t care what you say - he’s either a Death Eater, a massive git, or both!”

Tonks outright laughs now. “Malfoy! Running around with my cousin again, eh Hermione?”

She switches her glare from Ron to Tonks, thinking that she is absolutely not surprised that the woman and Ginny get on so well. “I am  _ not _ running around with anyone, and it was just one dance!”

“Who’s dancing with whom?” asks an approaching Remus Lupin, smile twitching on his face. “That’s perhaps what I miss the most about being a professor, you know -  _ the drama _ .”

“Hermione here had herself a turn on the dancefloor with my baby cousin, Draco Malfoy.” Tonks grins, taking a hold of Lupin’s arm and leaning into him.

Lupin raises a curious eyebrow and looks possibly even more amused than Tonks. “Hmm. Can’t say I’m surprised at that.”

After a bit more sputtering from Ron and a bit of intense blushing from herself, Harry drags them back to a more serious topic. “Enough about that. What’s the plan about the Death Eaters?”

Lupin shoots Tonks a sharp look. She meets his eyes steadily.

Lupin shifts heavily, glancing at the three of them hesitantly. “Nothing that involves you. For now, you’ll stay at Hogwarts and study for your NEWTs. If you see anything suspicious, you will not - and I repeat,  _ will not _ \- take any action other than to inform the Order about it. Is that understood?”

Tonks is frowning heavily, and Hermione is convinced that this has been an oft discussed topic amongst the couple.

“It is  _ not _ understood,” snaps Harry angrily, and she feels inclined to agree with that emotion. “I get dragged into something every year, whether I want to or not. The one time I try to be actively involved, and you’re shutting me down?  _ No way _ .”

“Harry-”

“There’s something big happening,” Harry insists. “I  _ feel  _ it.”

Lupin stands angrily. “Don’t you remember the last time you acted on such a feeling, Harry? We lost Sirius, and-” his voice breaks off with a heavy sob.

“Hey,” whispers Tonks, gently reaching out to turn his face towards hers and looking into his eyes. “Remus...Harry has learned so much since then, and a lot of that is thanks to you. Okay? He’s nearly a grown man now, and he’s right - he’s  _ ready _ .”

As Lupin gazes intensely into Tonks’ eyes, Hermione turns away from them, feeling like an intruder to a profoundly personal moment.

Harry looks somewhat mollified and continues quietly. “I mean it, Professor. I can feel it. I’m not wrong this time. Voldemort is planning something - and I’m not the only one to believe it. Hermione does too - there’s a prophecy and everything.”

She shifts uncomfortably as everyone turns to her, Lupin and Tonks most seriously. She relates the basics of the prophecy Hannah had uncovered, attempting to walk the fine line of being supportive of Harry yet dubious about the prophetic nature of his argument. 

_ She and the Four will settle the score _ . It is all just so vague! The entire reason she wanted to focus on arithmancy for the capstone was to avoid such vagaries and focus on clear logic.

“So, to Harry’s point - it - well, it’s - something, perhaps,” she summarizes lamely, and she can practically feel Harry roll his eyes at her. “When taken in conjunction with Harry’s dreams…” she trails off awkwardly.

“Well, it sounds like we don’t know where or when such an attack might take place,” Lupin replies with a pointed look at Harry. “So my guidance stands. Keep your heads low and stay out of trouble. Finish your NEWTs and become a damned auror,  _ then _ you can start fighting.”

_ “Continue _ fighting,” snaps Harry angrily.

Lupin levels him with a final glare before about facing and leaving the room.

“Remus,” calls Tonks, sparing them a grimace and chasing after him.

“Thanks for the support back there, Hermione,” Harry glares at her.

“Harry-” she sighs heavily. “Look, you  _ know _ how I feel about that stupid prophecy. You really shouldn’t have asked for my opinion!”

“I don’t  _ care _ how you feel about it, you should have had my back!”

“You  _ should  _ care how I feel about it!” she snaps back at him. “Do you remember what I told you back when you wanted to charge into the Department of Mysteries? Voldemort was setting a trap for you then, and aside from your dreams and a useless prophecy, we've no idea what he's planning now. Consider what happened last time! Lupin has a point, you know!”

Harry’s frown deepens and mingles with something like shame.

“Hermione,” murmurs Ron, and she can read in his eyes that she had been rather harsh.

“Look,” she continues more quietly - and, thinking of Sirius, somewhat guiltily. “I believe you, I do. I just don’t want to put our stock in prophecies. I promise you that we’re not going to just sit around and wait to get attacked, okay? We’ll train. We’ll restart the DA if we have to. And we’ll  _ investigate,  _ but we’ll be cautious about it. Okay? And when the attack happens, we’ll be  _ ready. _ ”

Harry sighs heavily, but nods. His frown disappears for a moment and he regards her thoughtfully. “Here I would’ve thought you’d be completely on board with Lupin’s idea of spending the entire term doing nothing but studying for NEWTs,” he jokes with a tentatively apologetic smile.

She stares at him for a moment, and Harry’s lips quirk into a bit of a wider grin. Seeing his smile, Ron starts to chortle lightly. At that, she can’t help but grin herself, and her grin spurs Harry into laughter, and before she knows it the three of them are giggling together and nearly rolling around on the ground as if they’re second-years caught in a web of tickling charms.

Even when they’re being gits, she loves those stupid boys with all her heart.

After bidding each other good night, she goes to the kitchen for a cup of tea before turning in. She sees Lupin sitting alone at the kitchen table pensively gazing into a tea cup. Knowing how rare it is to find oneself alone in the Burrow, she moves to quickly fetch her tea and leave him in peace.

“Hermione,” he starts hesitantly.

She pauses and observes the man curiously. He looks a bit thinner than the last time she saw him, and she could swear he has a new scar on his face. He looks  _ tired.  _ She is sure the shadow war has been taking its toll on him, along with the rest of the Order, and she wonders what she will look like in another year. She imagines that, despite what occupation her capstone arithmancy formula will predict for her, she’ll be long removed from the feasts of the Great Hall and will be following Harry into the proverbial trenches before long.

“I meant what I said,” Lupin continues with a frown. “I’d prefer you children to stay as safe as you can. To just have a normal year before the threats of the outside world descend upon you.”

“We’re not exactly children anymore, sir,” she replies slowly. “And - well, Harry’s right. He’s involved with this no matter what.”

He sighs wearily. “I know. And I know he’ll ignore my advice and force his way into the fight. I’m glad he has you there with him, Hermione. I hate to have to ask you this, but do please look out for him as best you can.”

She offers him a slight smile. “You should know by now that you don’t need to ask that of me. It’s just as inevitable as him having to fight in the first place.”

Lupin lets out a slight puff of breath in a laugh and nods at her. “Well, in return, I suppose I don’t need to warn you to be careful of the Malfoys?”

She groans internally, having had this conversation with far too many people by now, and she is certainly not keen on having her former Professor share his thoughts on the subject. “I’m well enough aware, thank you.”

“Yes - well, love makes fools of us all, I suppose,” Lupin opines wistfully.

She blanches. “I’m not - we’re not - that is, Malfoy and I are  _ not _ together. It was one dance!”

He laughs lightly. “Well like I said earlier, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were.” He makes to leave.

She gapes at him and seizes the opportunity before he can depart. “Excuse me, sir. What does  _ that  _ mean?”

He looks fairly surprised at her question. “I’m aware that I have keener senses than most; however, it didn’t take powerful night-vision to notice how he used to stare at you during class. I had half a mind to encourage Harry and Ron to start a row with him about that, alas.”

She can’t help but grin at that. Generally in their interactions, she often feels as though she is at somewhat of a disadvantage with Malfoy (probably because the stupid boy is just _so tall)._ However - a crush on her since third year? How intriguing! It certainly frames her slapping him in a new light.

“Yes, yes, he was nearly making puppy-eyes at you from across the room,” Lupin continues, walking towards the door. “And vice versa, of course.”

She blinks and her enthusiasm vanishes. Before she can think to ask him for more details, he has already departed the room.

Surely, Lupin was just needling her. She would never have dared stare at the boy in such a fashion. He was nothing more than an awful bully back then!

Back then...but what about now?

She huffs in annoyance, wildly irritated at all of the assumptions going about and convinces herself that Lavender Brown has somehow infiltrated the Order of the Phoenix and turned the whole lot into little more than gossiping teenaged girls. 


	19. Chapter 19

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Investigate the potential Death Eater students: ongoing  
-Eagle Eye investigation: postponed; the potential Young Death Eaters seem like a much higher priority, particularly after their chat with Tonks  
-Also, aside from an intensely impressive bit of magic, they do not seem particularly dangerous  
-Also, if Malfoy is still investigating this one, perhaps she can convince him to spill  
-Restart DA meetings: in progress  
-Find the stones from Slytherin’s journal: in progress, sort of  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: impossible!  
-Define her current emotional state about Draco Malfoy: impossible!  
-It had certainly felt like a significant turn when he had asked her to dance, but based on his pattern of behavior, she expects him to start hurling hexes at her and calling her a Mudblood again at any moment  
-Lupin had surely been pulling her leg about Malfoy having had a crush on her so many years ago. Surely.

“Hullo Hermione,” blushes Hannah, arriving a little early to their meeting in the library.

“Hannah,” she greets with a light smile. “Nice holidays?”

“Very nice!” Hannah enthuses, and they proceed to catch up for a few minutes.

She notices the girl looks a little more reddish than usual. “Something going on, Hannah?”

“Well-” the girl blushes profusely. “I think I might have made a discovery.”

She quirks an eyebrow up. “Oh? What sort of discovery?”

“Well - look at this.” Hannah places a bright yellow stone on the table.

Hermione gapes at it for a moment, looking back up at Hannah incredulously. The air around the stone feels heavy, and it fairly emits an odor of excessively old magicks.  _ “What... _ Hannah, where did you find this??”

“Do you think it might be one of them? One of the stones?”

She takes her wand out and taps the thing curiously. Her wand feels as though it's cutting through a resistant field in the air as it approaches the stone. “I - perhaps, but I need to know more. How on earth did you come about it?”

“Well,” Hannah grins through her blushing. “I asked Helga Hufflepuff about it.”

She blinks and stares at the girl for a moment.

“Well, her portrait, anyway,” Hannah clarifies. “I asked if she might know something about the stones, and she was awfully excited! She fetched it for me, and well, this is what she gave me.”

She blinks again and gapes at the stone, hardly even noticing the arrival of the two boys in the group, despite one of them smelling quite nice.

“What,” starts Malfoy as he loudly slumps into the seat next to her, leg slightly brushing up against her own as he does so. “Is  _ that _ ?”

“Well...it looks like Hannah found our first stone,” she admits, extremely enthused while simultaneously a little miffed that she was beaten in the unspoken race to find the stones.

Hannah almost wilts as both boys stare at her in surprise, and she smilingly tells them the tale.

Malfoy lets out a laugh. “You just asked her! Why didn’t you think of that, Granger?”

She half-heartedly glares at him.

He grins smirkingly at her.

Michael Corner narrows his eyes at them.

“In any case,” she snaps at Malfoy. “I’m about to go ask Gryffindor’s portrait. I suggest you and Michael do the same, and we reconvene here?”

“Such fun,” Malfoy rolls his eyes, but rises to leave.

Hannah accompanies her to the seventh floor where she recalls having come across Gryffindor’s portrait years ago. She hopes it is still in the same place, as she remembers it being in somewhat of a hidden hallway.

“Well, I’m obviously not worried about the capstone,” Hannah says as they walk. “Our team is so wonderful. But NEWTs! Oh, I’m awfully nervous, especially about DADA.”

“Well,” Hermione lowers her voice and glances around the empty hallway. “Don’t tell anyone yet, but I’m planning on restarting our DA meetings. That might provide some extra practice for the NEWTs as a bonus, I suppose.”

Hannah looks at her in surprise. “DA meetings! Well, that’s great, but - why? Is it because of the Dark Mark from the quidditch game? I thought nobody was hurt? Or -” Hannah lowers her voice. “Is it about Hufflepuff’s prophecy?”

She hesitates, not wanting to spill all of the Order’s secrets, despite Hannah’s general trustworthiness. “I’ll explain it at the first meeting,” she improvises. “Ah, here we go - Starshine.” The hidden doorway in front of them opens at the password, and they enter the long corridor. “Gryffindor’s portrait should be just ahead.”

“How exciting,” enthuses Hannah. “I’ve not been to this part of the castle before!”

Gryffindor is sleeping, of course, as they approach. His wavy red hair makes her think for a moment that Ron may have a point about being some distant relation, but his extremely muscular build convinces her otherwise.

She clears her throat. “Excuse me, er, Mr. Gryffindor.”

Gryffindor snores loudly.

“EXCUSE me, Godric Gryffindor, Sir!”

The man startles awake, glancing around curiously. “What’s this now? Who’re you?” he asks sleepily.

“My name is Hermione Granger,” she eyes the sleepy portrait dubiously. “I’m in Gryffindor House, and the Head Girl of Hogwarts this year. I have a question for you, sir.”

He waves a beefy hand at her. “Well, out with it then so I can go back to my nap - which, as you recall, you rudely interrupted just now.”

She glares at him. Rather rude for being the portrait of such a great man! “Well - my counterpart here and I-”

“Ha! A Hufflepuff!” he laughs genially, glancing at Hannah - who immediately blushes and looks away. 

“Right, yes,” she perseveres. “She actually recently procured a yellow stone of power from Helga Hufflepuff’s portrait, and I was hoping to do the same from you. Do you have such a stone?”

Gryffindor lets out a booming laugh. “Well,  _ of course _ I have such a stone. All the founders do! But come now, girl, you’re not my heir. Why should I give it to you?”

She blinks at the implications of that statement. If the portraits only give the stones to their respective heirs, then-

Her eyes widen and she stares at Hannah, who doesn’t seem to yet grasp the connection.

“Hannah…” she starts awkwardly. “Did, um, Hufflepuff mention any of this? Are you her  _ heir _ ?”

“Oh,” the girl frowns. “I- well, I don’t know! I suppose I can go ask her?”

She hesitates, turning back to Gryffindor. “So you’ll only give the stone to your heir, then?”

“Of course I’ll only give it to him,” laughs Gryffindor boomingly. “What, you think I would just give my stone of power to any old student? Of course not! Head Girl indeed!”

She frowns. “Well - who  _ is _ your heir?”

He chortles again. “Well, I can hardly tell you that! Come now, I expect you already know who he is. Now, if there’s nothing else, please go away. I’m  _ tired _ .”

“Wait - so, to be sure, if I come back with your heir then you’ll provide the stone?”

Gryffindor nods sleepily. “Of course. The wards are weakening.” With that, he waves them away.

She shakes her head in surprise as she and Hannah begin the trek back to the library.

“Right...so now, we have a different mystery on our hands,” she summarizes for Hannah. “We have to identify the four heirs in order to acquire the stones, but - well, it seems you’re...well, you’re Helga Hufflepuff’s heir.”

Hannah looks excessively stunned and doesn’t respond.

They arrive in the library and wait for the boys, and she stews silently, thinking. Gryffindor called his heir a ‘him’, so - well, it has to be a male in Gryffindor then, doesn’t it? Maybe she’ll just parade the lot of them down the corridor and let old Gryff point out the winner, though it seems the portrait has a certain set of rules to operate by.

Michael joins them shortly with a disappointed frown on his face. “No luck from Ravenclaw,” he sighs. “And I should say, she was rather rude about rejecting me!”

“Gryffindor wasn’t the most pleasant either,” she smiles empathetically at him. “Said he’ll only give it to his heir.”

“Huh,” Michael frowns, tilting his head curiously. “Well, Ravenclaw didn’t say anything about her heir, she mostly just said she didn’t want to give it to  _ me _ in particular.” He looks quite hurt about that fact.

“Well-” she is about to tell him the discovery about Hannah potentially being an heir when Malfoy saunters up with a grin.

“One fancy green gemstone requested, one fancy green gemstone acquired,” he smirks, tossing the stone of power up in the air and catching it with one hand rather carelessly.

“Draco-! Be careful with that,” she snaps at him, suddenly extremely uneasy. “It’s a stone of power! You can’t just toss it about like it’s a quaffle!”

“I have  _ very _ steady hands,” he insists with a wink. “Well, Corner? I showed them mine. Where’s yours, eh?”

Michael scowls. “Ravenclaw wouldn’t give it to me.”

Malfoy grins brightly. “No? Well, did you ask nicely?”

Hermione decides to interrupt before Malfoy can rile Michael up. “Well I couldn’t get Gryffindor to give me his stone either. Malfoy, did Slytherin say anything to you?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her and shrugs lightly. “Sure. He said it was important to save the school. Sounded like some alarmist nonsense to me - it clearly can’t be  _ that _ important if two of our dear founders are holding onto theirs, yeah?”

She looks at him concernedly for a moment. “Well...I do have a bit of an update,” she admits cautiously, glancing at Hannah. “Gryffindor told me - well, he said the wards are weakening. And, ah, he told me he would only give the stone to his heir.”

Malfoy frowns for a moment before turning to Hannah sharply. “Did Hufflepuff say anything like that?”

Hannah blushes and shakes her head nervously.

She levels Malfoy with a glare, and the boy takes the hint and changes his approach.

He smiles charmingly at Hannah, leaning on the table next to her. “Well, that’s alright. I must say, if I woke up this morning and they told me out of anyone at the school that  _ you’re _ Helga Hufflepuff’s heir, that would be the least surprising part of my day.”

Hannah  _ blushes _ but glances up at Malfoy with a tentative smile. 

“So,” Malfoy continues smilingly, and it is so nice to see him act in such a manner, despite the circumstances. “What  _ did _ she say, do you remember?”

“Well, I asked her if she knew anything about the stones,” Hannah starts thoughtfully. “She said she was happy to see me, and that of course she would get it for me. She - well, she was very pleased with my herbology studies and mentioned that she would give me a nice cauldron cake recipe if I could harvest some boomberries.”

Malfoy blinks at her. “Ah. Cauldron cakes. Good. Anything else?”

“Not really,” Hannah sighs. “I can go ask her about this heir situation, maybe she’ll tell me more?”

“That would be great, Hannah,” Hermione agrees. “Because - well, if it’s true-”

“It  _ can’t _ be true,” interrupts Malfoy sharply. “Maybe our Hannah here is an heir, but  _ I’m _ certainly not! Didn’t we go over this years ago? You-Know-Who is Slytherin’s heir, and yet, here I stand with his mysterious stone of power. Maybe old Gryffindor is just being a bit of a cock.”

“Lines of successions can change,” she offers, watching him with concern.

Slytherin’s heir. Could he really be Slytherin’s heir, all this time after she, Harry, and Ron had suspected him of it? And - what does that  _ mean _ ? It’s certainly not a  _ good _ thing, right? But - well, awful person or not, Slytherin was still a founder, so perhaps the line about wanting to save the school could ring true?

She stares at him a moment longer and his confidence falters; he looks  _ concerned _ and fairly slumps into the nearest chair.

“I suppose we can research this a little more,” she offers, watching him closely. “Hannah, Michael - maybe you can ask the portraits about the heirs and see if you can find out any more information? And - ah, maybe we could keep this to ourselves for now, yeah?”

Hannah nods, while Michael frowns at Malfoy. “He could ask Slytherin too, though I’m not sure how we can trust anything coming out of that lying blood purist’s mouth.”

It speaks to Malfoy’s state of mind that he can hardly muster a violent glare, and certainly no verbal evisceration.

As Hannah and Michael depart, Malfoy glances up at her, clearly shaken.

“Granger,” he starts uncomfortably. “This is probably bollocks, isn’t it?”

She watches him cautiously. “I don’t know yet.”

“Slytherin’s heir,” he mutters in a huff. “Slytherin’s heir! Fucking wonderful. Half the school already thinks I’m a damned Death Eater, and now they’ll think I’m out to murder all the muggleborns with a snake.”

She hesitates. “Well - honestly, I expect it’s more than half.”

“What?”

“More than half the school thinks you’re a Death Eater. Er- sorry, it was a joke.”

He blinks at her numbly. “Right. Funny, Granger.”

She cringes at herself. The poor boy does look excessively uncomfortable, so she hesitatingly walks over to him. But - what to do? If he were Harry, a comforting hug would suffice. For Ron, a reassuring rub on the shoulder.

But for Malfoy? This is uncharted territory. Words, then, to start.

“It - might be nonsense,” she starts slowly. “We don’t know for sure yet. There is - well, we have quite a lot of research to do before we know for sure.”

He levels her with a dubious stare. “Do  _ you  _ think it’s true though? That I’m Slytherin’s heir? I bet your gut says yes, no doubt. And if I am - what, that doesn’t scare you? Shouldn’t you be running for the hills by now?”

She shrugs awkwardly, searching for the right words. “Well - if the prophecy is true, then the four heirs are required to save the school. I always try to judge people based on their actions. If - well, if you are his heir and you do somehow help save the school, then should a label really matter?”

He sighs heavily and doesn’t respond or look at her, gathering his things and leaving the library in a rush.

That night, she sits with Harry quietly in the common room, ostensibly to discuss reforming the DA. He agrees that it’s certainly a good idea, but with a vague look in his eyes that gives her pause.

She glances around and debates waiting for Ron’s presence before launching into her explanation about the heirs and the stones.

“Maybe we, ah, shouldn’t wait for Ron,” Harry responds with a shrug.

She sighs. “Let me guess - he’s somewhere in the castle right now with his lips glued to my roommate?”

Harry winces, but nods. “It’s like every time they kiss, she sucks another fifteen minutes of his time away.”

She laughs slightly, still a bit uncomfortable with the concept of Ron being romantic with someone, particularly one she does not entirely approve of. Though, with all the Malfoy nonsense going on in her life, she supposes she should try not to judge so much.

In any case, she briefly explains the situation with the stones and the heirs, tentatively leaving Malfoy out of the story for the moment.

“So - Gryffindor’s portrait said he’ll give the stone to whoever his heir is. I was rather hoping you might come with me tomorrow and ask him about it?”

Harry laughs. “Oh, come off it. I doubt I’m the heir - honestly, you may as well round all of us up and drag us over there for a chat. Why would it be me?”

“Really Harry?  _ You _ come off it! You literally pulled the man’s sword out of a hat at one point. How can you sit here and pretend that it’s not a possibility?”

“Look - how about you try and save the school without me this year, yeah?” He laughs like it’s a joke, but she knows him well enough to detect the serious edge in his voice.

“Harry,” she frowns. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Don’t treat me like I’m a fool, or that I don’t  _ know you.  _ Tonks says there might be an attack on the Ministry, and that Voldemort would likely be there. And here you are, trying to make yourself impossibly unimportant during a hypothetical assault on the school. Let me tell you right now, Harry Potter. If the school gets attacked, you will  _ not _ sneak away to the Ministry! Hogwarts is our home, and you’ll stay here with me to defend it if I have to petrify you myself!” 

He smiles softly and doesn’t respond.

She sighs heavily, desperately wanting to skip the next part, but knowing she can’t. “There’s one more thing...we think there’s a slight um, entirely unproven possibility that Malfoy might be the heir of Slytherin.”

Harry blinks at her for a moment before letting out a harsh laugh. “Ha! Wish I could go back in time and tell our second year idiot selves that we were actually right!”

“Idiot selves? Speak for yourself! Besides, we don’t know it for sure,” she insists.

“Oh Hermione,” Harry sighs, raising a hand to absently trace his scar. “Heir of Slytherin and you’re still defending him, eh? You must  _ actually _ like him, I’m near convinced!”

She scoffs and can feel her cheeks redden. She  _ really _ needs to ask Michael about occlumency some time, it might’ve really come in handy at times this year. “Shut up,” she replies lamely.

“I was talking to Ginny about it the other day, she thinks it’s true too!”

She makes a mental note to chew out Ginny, though she is grateful for the sudden chance to turn the tables. “Talking to Ginny again, are we?”

His ears turn bright red. “Well, not like that. We just - had a nice chat, that’s all.”

She grins at him. “Good! So - what about Pansy? It looked like you two had a nice dance at the Yule party.”

“We did,” his blush deepens. “There, er, might’ve been a kiss. Well - a peck, really. She, umm, might’ve laughed at me. Look - enough about me! If Malfoy’s the damned heir of Slytherin, we might have bigger problems on our hands.”

She thinks about Malfoy’s stressed out face as he stormed out of the library earlier and she wonders.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a bit of violence in this chapter

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, though Ron’s most serious threat is from Lavender on Valentine’s Day  
-Investigate the potential Death Eater students: ongoing  
-Restart DA meetings: in progress, with the first meeting a resounding success  
-They decided not to tell the entire story from Tonks, rather that Harry was having premonitions; it seemed to do the trick  
-Study the nature of the stones: in progress; they exude some intense magical properties, and appear to be beryl - the fourth element, there’s the Rule of Four again  
-Find the heirs of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw: in progress  
-Convince another prefect to take the Valentine’s Day night rounds shift with her: exceedingly unlikely, and she might have to guilt Blaise into a double shift  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: impossible!  
-Define her current emotional state about Draco Malfoy: impossible!  
-Certainly the potential of being Slytherin’s heir is a concern, to say the least  
-But he had seemed legitimately stressed out by the prospect, so what does that mean?  
-She has additionally come to decide that it is impossible for the love potion after-effects to still be lingering, so the unfortunate conclusion must be that she continues to find the boy attractive because he is, in fact, attractive  
-Her heart starts quite literally fluttering around him, and it is  _ awful;  _ at least when she was under the influence of the love potion, it made sense why she reacted the way she did  


To her final point, she subtly observes the object of her confusing affections across the room looking somewhat sullen, as if daring someone to ask him about the heir of Slytherin business as the other prefects filter into the room. Of course, after having sworn the capstone group to secrecy about the new development, the entire school learned about the heirs within moments and was alight with gossip.

The intent of the Friday afternoon prefect meeting (followed by a brief capstone project touch point) is to free up everyone’s Saturday for Valentine’s Day.

Hermione scoffs inwardly at the thought. It’s not  _ bitter _ of her to dislike Valentine’s Day, despite Ginny’s protests to the contrary. It’s just that there are far less silly holidays to celebrate - Imbolc, for example, also occurs in February and is celebrated by gorgeous purification rites marking the transition to spring. It’s a literal spring cleaning holiday, thus far more practical than sending stupid love letters to stupid, ignorant boys.

“Calm down, everyone,” Blaise tries lamely on the generally grumbling group of prefects. The Head Boy looks intensely exhausted, and she is comforted to know that she is not the only one struggling to keep up with all the different pressures facing them this year. “It’s just one shift.”

“Blaise will take the morning shift, and myself the evening,” she continues, talking over the group. “We need two volunteers for the mid-day shift, one for the morning, and one for the evening.”

Eventually Pansy rolls her eyes and agrees to accompany Blaise, and when Canary Mattingly (a very pretty sixth-year Ravenclaw prefect) volunteers for the mid-day shift, Anthony Goldstein wolfishly volunteers to accompany her.

Wrangling support for the Valentine’s Day evening shift and rather announcing to the school  _ ‘I am unpopular and dateless’  _ is a larger challenge, however. There is quite a bit of underwhelmed mumbling. Even Ron averts his eyes, though she can see him mentally calculating the pros (avoiding Lavender) and the cons (avoiding Lavender).

She is in the process of debating whether she is still annoyed enough at Lavender to force Ron into the evening shift (or maybe she can deputize Harry into prefectdom for a night?) when a drawling voice speaks up from the back.

“Can’t just bring that feral cat of yours along to protect you, eh Granger?  _ Fine,  _ I suppose I can volunteer in that case.”

The room goes completely silent as everyone ogles Malfoy. Ron’s face is positively mutinous. Even Pansy and Blaise stare at the boy skeptically.

“R-right then,” she stammers, avoiding the eyes of everyone in the room. “Thanks to all the volunteers. Just a reminder to the group that Professor McGonagall is quite serious about restricting privileges altogether. Do please spread the word to your Houses and encourage proper behavior this weekend.”

As the group of prefects depart with no small amount of grumbling, Ron rushes up to her in a huff, nearly bowling over a dubious looking Blaise.

Ron glares behind him in Malfoy’s direction. “Sure you’re okay to be alone with him?”

She sighs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He gapes at her in surprise. “You know - Heir of Slytherin and all that.”

“I can handle myself, Ronald. You should know that by now.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Besides, we don’t even know for sure he is the Heir!” She glances at the object of their discussion, currently engaged in what looks to be a snarky conversation with the Head Boy.

Ron nearly growls in their direction. “I’ll go with you instead, yeah?”

She scoffs at him. “You could have volunteered earlier!”

“Better late than never?” 

“In this case, absolutely not! Besides - I imagine Lavender will throw a fit if you abandon her for Valentine’s Day on my behalf…” she trails off awkwardly.

“Right...yeah,” agrees Ron, still frowning.

She risks another glance at Malfoy. With Blaise gone and Ron departing, he starts to turn his eyes towards her. She immediately averts her gaze and avoids eye contact with the boy until the rest of the capstone group approaches before launching into the conversation with great enthusiasm.

“We’ve gone quite far beyond the original scope of our project. With most of the survey responses processed, I suggest we focus on the arithmancy component more heavily than the - prophecy aspect.” She trails off awkwardly, glancing at Malfoy uneasily.

His face shows no particular emotion.

“Anyway - Michael has made quite a lot of progress on the formula with an application of the Othala rune constant, particularly when raised to the fourth factor. I’d like to focus our efforts on finalizing it before the end of the month.”

Michael beams proudly, Hannah looks slightly crestfallen, and Malfoy looks - well, amused.

“So,” starts Hannah, cheeks red as ever. “You don’t mean we’re giving up, do you? On retrieving the two stones from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?”

“She’s just jealous she’s not an heir like us,” Malfoy stage-whispers to Hannah, nudging the girl slightly with his elbow, to which she blushes.

Hermione glares at him before answering Hannah. “No, we’re not giving up - we’re just adjusting our focus for now.”

Malfoy laughs - guffaws, more like. “You’re just annoyed that the prophecy aspect has become so important! And - still, you don’t believe in dreams, hmm? How predictably  _ muggle  _ of you. Very stubborn, Granger.”

She glares even harder because he is not exactly wrong - she  _ is _ annoyed, and she is annoyed at herself for being annoyed, but she is even more annoyed at him for knowing that she is annoyed.

And, additionally, she had thought that he might actually be grateful at the subject change, considering how upset he seemed when he found out he might be an heir. But now he’s playing it up for jokes?

And-

And - oh goodness, is she going on a Valentine’s Day prefect rounds date with Draco Malfoy? What a nightmare.

When his laughing dies down, his smirk is almost challenging her.

She spends the rest of her evening studying  _ (not _ hiding) and avoids her housemates as best as she can before going to sleep early, thinking about Malfoy and his stupid smirk as she drifts into an uneasy slumber.

She- 

She knows something is wrong, so she tries to wake up and figure out what’s going on but for some reason she can’t. A heavy weight is crushing her into the ground, and when she tries to shove at the shadowy presence her arms are ensnared by shadows and wrenched back above her head.

_ Mudblood whore,  _ _ mudblood whore,  _ the shadows chant in a whisper.

She gasps in surprise and a shadow hand slithers it’s way into her open mouth and-

_ This isn’t real it can’t be real - _

She tries to gasp but the shadow fills her mouth and-

_ Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood whore. _

It’s a nightmare right? That’s it, she tells herself, it  _ must  _ be just a nightmare-

All she needs to do is  _ wake up _ -

But she can’t  _ breathe _ and when she struggles against her shadowy bindings they grasp her wrists tighter and the heavy shadow presence above her  _ laughs _ before slinking below, and she gasps again and struggles to release a cry as it holds her down. 

_ Whore, whore, fucking Mudblood whore! _

She thrashes again against her spectral restraints but somehow they grow even tighter and she thinks her wrists might snap, but the shadow is  _ everywhere _ and it’s suffocating her and it’s  _ inside _ of her and it’s  _ everywhere _ and-

The shadow  _ growls _ into her ear and-

She jerks awake with a desperate cry and rapidly takes in her surroundings. It’s - almost morning, maybe? She is in the dormitory, sweating in her own bed. Everything is - fine, right? It was just a nightmare - a vivid nightmare, certainly, but not real. Brought on by stress, surely. She tries to still her heart, pounding so heavily in her chest that she can hardly hear her own thoughts.

As she plants her hands on the bed and moves to stand, she grimaces in pain for a moment and notes the concerning appearance of fresh bruises on her wrists (probably from...something  _ real _ and not the horrific shadow hands holding her down in her dream though, right?). Her chest heaves for a moment and her heart thuds in her chest but -

Dreams aren’t  _ real, _ they aren’t real! 

_ ‘Oneiromancy. It’s the study of dreams and-’ _

No.  _ No _ .

_ ‘She was famously a dreamwalker - she could transport herself directly into her patient’s dreams to better analyze the symbols-’ _

She cradles her bruised wrists to her chest.

_ ‘You don’t believe in dreams, hmm? How predictably  _ muggle  _ of you.’ _

She wants to cry and she wants to go to sleep again but she never wants to go to sleep  _ again _ but-

Her wrists are blue and purple with bruises, but-

It couldn’t be  _ real _ though, right?

She collapses back onto her bed in a heap and lies there, awake with a pounding heart, for what seems like hours until the sun is seeping through the windows. She should - well, it’s Saturday, she should start her Saturday morning routine.

Journal (no, maybe not, she doesn’t want to dwell on the dream or on Malfoy or on anything), read, stretch, shower, dress, exercise (though no pushups, because  _ her wrists-), _ go for a walk around the Great Lake, breakfast, study, spend the rest of the day figuring out if she wants to brave a nap while dreading her upcoming rounds with Malfoy. She wonders if she is being paranoid when she glances at the Slytherin table during lunch and thinks she sees some of them watching her more closely than usual. Crabbe and Goyle seem to be paying particular attention to her from across the room, though she can't decide if it's more than their usual ogling.

She might be paranoid. 

She shudders and keeps to herself until the time to meet Malfoy approaches.

“I have a theory, Granger,” the boy drawls, his voice surprisingly upbeat as they commence their tour of the castle.

Her head is already starting to ache from exhaustion. “Oh?”

“Indeed, I do. My theory is that you want the capstone group to focus on arithmancy again not just because you don’t care for dream analysis, but rather because you’re worried about me and my feelings.”

She blinks at him. “Your feelings.”

He grins and nods a little too enthusiastically. “Precisely! You saw me feeling down about that heir of Slytherin nonsense, and you wanted to change the subject so as not to worry me. It’s sickeningly sweet of you, actually, though unnecessary I assure you.”

She rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond.

“You seem more put off at me than usual, Granger. What’d I do this time?”

He is grinning at her, but she is a little too exhausted to find him amusing or charming at the moment. She once again doesn’t reply, leading him down an empty fifth floor corridor.

His grin fades somewhat. “I’ll guess then. You’re mad at me for nobly sacrificing my Valentine’s Day in order to accompany you on rounds? Or, more likely, you’ve realized that my potentially being the heir of Slytherin is quite a _ bad thing _ and you’re worried I’ve signed up for this shift just to hex you?”

She sighs heavily and stares at him. Heir of being annoying all the time, more like. Then again, he has seemed a little emotionally unstable ever since the heir reveal. “You’re awfully concerned about what I think about you, aren’t you Malfoy? Besides it’s neither of those things.”

He frowns. “I am absolutely not concerned, I know exactly what you think about me. And if not, what, then?”

_ “Nothing _ . Let’s just get this over with.”

“Bet you’ve used that line on Weasley before, eh?”

“Just - please shut up. We can conduct rounds in silence, you know.”

He takes a quick step and stands in front of her, blocking her forward progress. She is awfully sick of these stupid tall Slytherin boys standing in her way this year. “Granger. What did I do?”

She observes him for a moment. He certainly looks earnest. Clearly, the association with the heir of Slytherin has been causing him stress, but she can’t shake the uneasy feeling after her strange nightmare.

“Did you ever think that perhaps the world doesn’t revolve around you? I’m allowed to be in a bad mood for reasons unrelated to you, you know.”

He smirks as she side-steps him and continues down the hallway. “No you’re not, I forbid it. If you’re in a bad mood because of anyone, they’d better have permission from me first.”

“Malfoy-” she groans tiredly. “Look, I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m exhausted. Let’s please just finish this so I can go to sleep. Is that too much to ask?”

“Hmm, can’t sleep because you’re dreaming of me, eh?” 

She can hear the playful tone in his voice, but she freezes and stares at him coldly until his grin falters. It - the dream, the nightmare, it  _ couldn’t _ have been him, but-

“Granger-” he hesitates, eyes narrowing in concern. “What is it?”

She really doesn’t want to tell him, but his eyes-

She knows she shouldn’t trust him, but she hesitantly rolls up the sleeves of her robe and shows him her bruised wrists.

His frown deepens and his eyes narrow dangerously as he takes in the sight. “What - who did this to you?”

She nearly shudders at the violence in his voice. “I don’t know,” she replies softly. “I don’t know. I - had a nightmare last night and woke up with these. As you conveniently reminded me yesterday, I don’t believe dreams are real, do I? And I’ve long thought oneiromancy was rubbish. Well, someone decided to prove me wrong last night.”

His jaw drops as he gapes at her. “I - oneiromancy! Granger, you don’t think I had anything to do with this?? I - I was joking yesterday.”

She sighs and shuts her eyes for a moment, dropping her arms to her side. She feels as though this entire year has been her being suspicious of Malfoy, followed by him earning the right for her to not be suspicious of him, followed by her being suspicious of him once again in a nearly endless cycle.

“No...I don’t think you did.” Her voice is small and tired and she just wants to go to sleep, but what if whoever has decided to haunt her nightmares comes back and- “I don’t think it was you,” she repeats firmly, more to herself than him.

His face visibly melts in relief for a moment and he hesitantly reaches for her hand. Just as she had done to his bruised hand once, months ago, he starts to gently trace her bruises with his finger. Her hand lies unsteadily in his, jittery and nearly jumping at his touch, and she cannot help but look into his eyes, burning with intensity.

“Granger...listen, I-”

He cuts himself off and they both look down the hallways as an odd whistling sound makes its way from an unseen source down the corridor.

His mouth quirks into an uneasy smile. “What do you think - Peeves, or snogging fifth years?”

She can’t quite tell if she laughs or heaves a sigh, but in any case, she withdraws her hand from his grasp, finding herself a little regretful at the loss of contact. “I’m not sure which would be preferable out of those options.”

“Snogging fifth years, to be sure, although - what the hell is  _ that _ ?”

Malfoy gestures down the hallway at what appears to be a heavy cloud of smoke rapidly making its way towards them.

“Probably not snogging fifth years,” she observes dryly, taking out her wand.

“Likely not,” he agrees. “Come on-”

He starts to charge forward, and as the dense fog reaches them she vaguely recollects her promise to herself to get in decent enough physical condition in order to keep up with all these annoyingly tall quidditch players.

He is several steps ahead of her when the amount of smoke in the air seems to multiply, and she hesitates, losing track of her companion. The smoke billows in front of her and-

It doesn’t smell like smoke from a fire, it smells like magic.  _ Dark _ magic.

_ “Ventus Duo,” _ she murmurs, and a gust of wind escapes from her wand but has little effect on clearing away the misty smoke.

The air is thick, and she feels the smoke settling in her lungs. She can hardly see, and there is a faint thrumming sound in her ears. The fog rushes over her in intense waves, and it feels  _ heavy. _

“Malfoy!” she calls out, but her voice dies in the heavy air in front of her, and she can’t see him, and it’s almost like being swallowed by the shadows from her nightmare-

“Granger!” she hears, but it sounds so far away, and- 

_ “Lumos,”  _ she whispers, but the fog seems to  _ roar _ at her in anger as it surges forward to consume her light-

She throws her hand out blindly and tries to steady herself, suddenly feeling terribly cold and dizzy. The dark air rushes angrily around her. She - was going somewhere, wasn’t she?

“Granger!”

She heads towards his voice (whose voice? from where?), step by step, and suddenly-

_ Pain! _

She cries out and collapses to the ground, wand scattering across the ground as something  _ cracks _ beneath her, and her leg-

_ What-! _

“Granger!!”

From the ground, she can glance through the rolling fog and smoke. Something dark and terrifying is encasing her right foot, like a crystal cage, slowly building upon itself and  _ crawling _ up her leg as though it’s alive, and it  _ hurts- _

Where’s her wand, she needs her wand-

“Granger!” gasps Malfoy, looking deeply pale and sweaty as he emerges from the darkness and collapses to his knees in a heap at her side. He takes in the sight of  _ the thing _ making its way up her leg with wide eyes. “What  _ the fuck _ is that?”

She doesn’t know but it’s dark and cold and somehow  _ burns _ and-

“Granger, focus!” he snaps, pausing to cough heavily. “What- what is this, what do you feel? Can you stand up?”

“Pain,” she gasps, struggling to put the concept into words. “But - oh, it  _ hurts, _ it’s  _ moving-” _

She gazes at her leg, and the translucent crystal mass is melting away the exterior of her shoe and the fabric of her pants, and it makes contact with her skin and  _ oh god- _

“Malfoy,” she cries out, grasping his hand desperately as tears sting her eyes. “My wand - I don’t know where-”

_ “What the fuck- _ ” he mutters under his breath, clutching her hand tightly in one hand and pointing his wand at her leg with the other.  _ “Flipendo!” _

She watches as the spell fruitlessly impacts the crystal block slowly  _ burning _ its way up her leg. The nerves in her leg where it is making direct contact with her skin feel as though they’re being charred to ashy nothingness and she cries out involuntarily in excruciating pain.

“What the fuck,” he mutters again, eyes widening as he stares at her leg helplessly.

“Malfoy - oh god, Draco,  _ it burns _ -” she gasps, unable to tear her eyes away from the horror of watching the  _ thing _ creep higher up her leg. She scrunches herself closer to Malfoy as if she can get away from it but-

_ “Everte statum!”  _ he calls out harshly.

They watch together as the spell lands listlessly against the surface of the crystal, with not even the slightest crack to show for it.

“Granger,” he whispers helplessly in something of a sob, clutching her hand tightly as she wraps a fist in the fabric of his robe and  _ squeezes. _

“Nnnngh,” she groans as it tears away at her pant leg, and the contact on her bare skin is  _ agonizing _ and it’s moving higher, reaching her knee, and her heart is pounding violently in her chest and oh god if she dies in a random corridor on sodding Valentine’s Day in Draco Malfoy’s arms-

“Hermione,” he nearly sobs, voice rasping and broken.

She finds herself clutching at a familiar ache in her chest as her body temperature starts to dip. Cold - she is cold - but from what? An old memory hits her in the form of words on a page. “C-cursed ice,” she gasps, shuddering. “It - c-could be cursed ice, need f-fire.”

_ “Incendio!” _ he cries out.

She watches the flame impact against the surface, not melting it away but it pauses slightly. She could swear it  _ looks at them  _ and  _ it’s angry _ and it  _ hurts,  _ and she turns away, burying her head in Malfoy’s chest as she murmurs heavily, “More - something stronger, m-more fire.”

He pulls her close against him, leveling his wand once more.  _ “Ignis Maxima!” _

A steady stream of fire bursts out of his wand directly onto the ice encasing her leg, and she is  _ so cold _ but  _ it burns _ and she is shaking fiercely in his grasp-

The ice starts to melt, and he holds his wand steady-

A strangled sort of cry tears itself from her throat, and tiny spots of blackness appear at the outskirts of her eyesight.

It’s melting, it’s shrinking, it’s going away-

Going away, just like her-

Her vision blurs in front of her eyes and for a moment all she can see is his beautiful, worried face, and he is  _ saving  _ her isn’t he? So it is out of gratefulness then, surely, when she rests a shivering hand upon his cheek and gently presses her freezing cold lips against his and observes his steely eyes widen in surprise before everything fades to darkness.

Her final thought before oblivion is that he really shouldn’t be all that surprised about receiving a kiss. It  _ is _ Valentine’s Day, after all.


	21. Chapter 21

When she opens her eyes, the brightness of the hospital wing is nearly a physical assault. Her immediate thought is that she feels faintly embarrassed, though she’s not sure why.

She tries to recall what had happened to land her in the hospital bed with loads of candies lining the table next to her, but her memory is somewhat fuzzy. Something about - Valentine’s Day rounds?

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” observes Madam Pomfrey as she turns the corner. “How are you feeling?”

She realizes she is not quite sure. “Tired, I think.”

“You have spent a fair bit more time in the hospital wing this year than I would prefer, you know. Your friends have been waiting for you, of course, they’ll be pleased to hear that you’re back with us. Now, tell me, you know your name, don’t you?”

“Of course - Hermione Granger.”

“You know what year it is, yes?”

She blinks and frowns. Surely she hasn’t been in some sort of coma? “1998.”

Madam Pomfrey nods. “And the date?”

“Well - Valentine’s Day is the last I recall.”

“And who is the current Minister of Magic?”

“The election is coming up soon, I suppose, but - Rufus Scrimgeour.”

Madam Pomfrey continues to ask a few basic questions, which she answers diligently, though with increasing nervousness.

“Excuse me, Madam Pomfrey - what  _ happened _ ? The last thing I remember - well, I was doing rounds, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” agrees the matron. “There was - an incident. Do you remember a sort of fog filling the hallway?”

Her frown deepens, and her head fairly aches at trying to recall the memory. “Yes...yes, I do remember. It felt - heavy, and disorienting. It was dark magic, I’m sure of that.”

Madam Pomfrey looks uneasy. “Do you remember anything else?”

“I...got hurt, somehow? But how-” she gasps. “It was cursed ice, wasn’t it? My leg-” She glances down in a hurry to confirm her leg (which had been nearly disintegrating the last time she felt anything) is still as it should be. She expects it to be nothing but a charred stump.

“Your leg is fine, Miss Granger. Luckily your patrol partner was able to remove the cursed ice in time and get you here quickly, else you might’ve lost it altogether.”

“My patrol partner…” 

_ Draco _ .

“Is he all right?” She glances around the room, almost expecting him to be in one of the beds near her. She remembers him coughing heavily and looking awfully ill while she was fairly writhing against him in pain.

“He was in a bit of a better state than you were, certainly. He received some treatment and was released quickly. If anything, it seems like he’s more upset on your behalf than due to his own health.”

Oh god - had she really - she had kissed him, hadn’t she? Had that been real?

“Ugh,” she groans, bringing a tired hand to her forehead. “How long have I been here then?”

“Four days.”

“Four days!” she gapes, stunned. “Four - oh, no, I’ve missed herbology, and ancient runes had an essay due- four days! How did that happen?”

Madam Pomfrey is fussing over her bed, checking her status. “Cursed ice, dear - it can leave the patient somewhat addled for a time. Four days is not so bad, all things considered. I’ve seen patients stay addled for weeks after exposure, I’ll have you know.”

“Addled,” she repeats, feeling a blush coming on strong. “Did I - what was I doing, did I say anything?”

Madam Pomfrey smiles sympathetically. “Nothing I’ll repeat to anyone dear, don’t worry. Now - shall I bring your friends in? They’ve stayed in the waiting room every night, you know.”

Her worry breaks for a moment, thinking of Harry and Ron holding vigil for her. “Please - that would be lovely.”

“The deputy headmistress will be wanting to see you as well, I’ll ensure she is made aware of your improvement.”

As the matron departs to do so, Hermione takes a deep breath and tries to digest the new information. Four days, gone! All that NEWT study time lost, and-

And  _ who _ had been responsible? That was quite a bit of advanced magic - summoning the dark clouds in the hallway, and then conjuring cursed ice? Was it just a more advanced version of hexing her hair from the beginning of the year, or was this something - else? And-

And why send for McGonagall? Nothing against her head of house, but shouldn’t Dumbledore be involved if there was such an attack on a student? Unless, something even worse has happened, and-

And oh sweet Merlin, she really had kissed Draco Malfoy, hadn’t she? She groans, resting her arm on her forehead as if that could help contain her embarrassment. Hopefully the memory wasn’t real, and had simply been part of the brain-addling effects from the cursed ice.

“Hermione!” Harry and Ron cry simultaneously as they stumble past her privacy screens, and her heart soars at the sight of them.

“How are you?” blurts Ron nervously. “Madam P wouldn’t let us see you-”

“I’m - all right, I think,” she replies.  _ Mostly just concerned about whoever is trying to murder me, but moreso about the Malfoy incident- _ “I’ve a bit of a headache, and I’m quite concerned about missing class, but - I’m fine.”

“Thank goodness,” Harry breathes heavily. He glances around quickly. “Look, we should tell you before - well, before anyone else gets here. Everyone will be wanting to see you, after all. That same night you were attacked, there was an incident in Diagon Alley.”

“An incident - what, Death Eaters?” she asks, exhaling heavily.

Harry nods seriously.

“Old Florean Fortescue,” Ron whispers. “They attacked the shop - it wasn’t all that dark out either, all sorts of couples were still out getting ice cream on Valentine’s Day and all that.”

She gasps at them in shock. “No, not Florean! Why? What - is he okay?”

The grim faces of the boys confirm her suspicion.

“There was a Dark Mark in the sky above the shop,” Harry says quietly. “It’s - not good, Hermione. A coordinated attack, you know? Here and out there. It feels like they’re practicing, and - well, it’s not good.”

Unsure how to respond, she nods. Poor old Florean Fortescue. Why him? And - why  _ her? _

“Hey, so did you see who attacked you?” asks Ron. “Malfoy said you didn’t, but hell if I’m going to start believing that tosser.”

Her stupid heart flutters in its cage. “Malfoy? He - er, you talked to him then? What else did he say?”

The boys gape at her for a moment and she feels herself flush slightly.

“Because,” she continues, forging onwards awkwardly. “Well, he might remember better than I do - my, ah, memories are a bit addled because of the cursed ice, see.”

Ron narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“Right,” agrees Harry quickly. “Sure. He said he didn’t see much. Well, he’ll be by in a bit, I suppose. Maybe if the two of you talk through it, you’ll remember a bit better.”

She sits upright a little too quickly. “He’ll be by? Why would he-” she cuts herself off and tries to convince her brain to stop jumping to annoyingly optimistic conclusions.

“He’s come by every night,” Ron replies grumpily. “The git. Probably trying to make sure you don’t remember that  _ he’s _ the one who cursed you in the first place. I  _ knew  _ I should’ve gone with you on rounds.”

To her surprise, before she can summon the energy to tell him off, Harry intervenes first.

“Oh, shut it, Ron. We should be thankful he was there, at least. Imagine if he hadn’t been there, eh?”

“That’s my point!” insists Ron. “If he hadn’t been there, she might not have gotten hexed in the first place!”

Harry rolls his eyes, and clearly the boys have had this exact argument over the last four days. “If he’d hexed her, why did he bring her to the hospital wing? You dolt, you’re being ridiculous at this point.”

“Probably to get the suspicion off himself! Like, he cursed her, but brought her here to-”

At the sound of a throat clearing from behind them, the boys jump and glance back while she feels a blush make its way to her face.

“Potter. Weasley,” he greets with a curled lip, clearly annoyed from having overheard at least part of the conversation.

Ron glares sullenly at the boy, while she furiously tries to convince herself that the kiss had simply been the result of a bit of brain addling.

Said boy turns to look at her, and she might be imagining it, but his gaze seems to soften somewhat. “Granger...all right?”

She nods, furiously wishing Harry and Ron would bugger off, but also desperately wanting them to stay so she doesn’t have to be alone with him. Their jaws are nearly dropped at the sight of Draco casually inquiring after her health. “All right,” she agrees stiltedly.

The four of them glance around at each other for a moment in a deeply awkward silence.

Stupid boys. She clears her throat loudly. “So - Malfoy - I, um, don’t exactly remember everything. Anything, really, most of my memories are - er, addled.”

His eyes seem to flicker in a glance down to her lips, but definitely she is probably imagining that.

“I - remember the fog...do you know what it was? Or who cast it?”

He shrugs nonchalantly and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I already told your bodyguards here - I didn’t see anyone, the fog came down the hallway too quickly. As for the spell - don’t know yet, but I’m looking into it.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Of course you are. You said it was  _ dark magic _ didn’t you? I’m sure your old man has some nasty books lying around his library all about it.”

Draco sneers at him. “At least he can afford to have a library with books lying all about it.”

“Hey,” starts Harry.

“Shut up, all of you,” she snaps angrily, rubbing her forehead heavily. “Listen to me - I have a severe headache coming on, so let’s do this quickly. At this point, I trust everyone in this room - don’t look at me like that Ronald, I said  _ everyone _ in this room - and we need to work together, I think. Someone has been after me all year, and I’ve had no luck trying to sort it out on my own.”

Draco shifts heavily, looking a little embarrassed at her confession of trust, and she looks away as he starts to volunteer a recap for the boys. “I’d originally thought the hexers were a couple little shits of my own house. I found out who they were and got them to stop.”

“Clearly you did a great job with that,” Ron grumbles with a glare. 

“Hush, Ron. The hexers - who he  _ did _ stop - were mostly benign. Hexing my hair and the like, you remember. The key, I think, is that they both might have Death Eater connections in their families.”

“Oh really. Death Eater connections.  _ In their families,”  _ Ron fairly growls, continuing to glare at Draco, who glowers right back at him.

_ “Ron,  _ listen. I started warding my bag - it was fairly complex, no ‘little shits’ could have broken into it. And yet,  _ someone _ did - but for no clear purpose, other than leaving me awful drawings.”

She briefly and bashfully explains the threatening charmed pornography she has been on the receiving end of, to an equally bashful Ron and Draco. Harry had seen one himself, of course, but joins the rest of them in bashfulness for good measure.

“Right,” she continues awkwardly. “So - there were also the, um, rumors about me. Which we all know were highly exaggerated.”

Ron and Draco seem to both be actively trying to be taller than the other, to no avail.

“Then - well, I’m rather loath to give credence to this one, but I’ve had two strange nightmares. The first was the night of the Yule party, and the other was the night before Valentine’s Day. It felt like someone was actually  _ in _ my dream with me, with some amount of control over what went on. It was - well, regardless of whether or not the dream nonsense is real, after this attack -  _ someone _ is coming after me, possibly someone with Death Eater connections, and certainly someone dangerous,” she concludes.

“Who is a terrible artist,” adds Harry.

“Well, what about the eagle eye stuff? Think that has anything to do with it?” asks Ron curiously, though not without ceasing his pissing contest with Draco.

She frowns. “I don’t think so - I think it’s an entirely separate entity, though I can’t be sure. It seems as though they’re not in league with the Death Eaters, certainly, but I’ve no idea what they’re after. They haven’t attacked me, so far as I know. I’ll return the favor for now and worry about them after the more immediate threat.”

Draco shifts again, looking uneasy.

She stares at him and he looks away. “Draco...what is it?”

Ron and Harry blink at her uncomfortably, and she belatedly realizes she has committed the heinous crime of using the boy’s first name aloud.

“I - well, I have a theory,” Draco starts hesitantly. “Weasley’s not going to like it much, however.”

“Out with it,” growls Ron threateningly.

“Calm down, Ron,” she sighs. “Go ahead, Draco - I should hear it, shouldn’t I?”

He nods, but hesitates again. “Well - the hair hexing thing started right around the time we first agreed to meet for the capstone, right? Then the ectoplasm in your bag - another stupid prank, but it was nearly right after I gave you the antidote for the hair hex.”

Her frown deepens. “The rumors…”

He nods and looks down at his feet. “The, ah, first rumor - it was about you and me, wasn’t it? After we were, ah, spotted chatting near the library. Then suddenly all those other rumors popped up - why would that have happened?”

She starts to feel a little sick to her stomach. Not a great feeling to have on top of a burgeoning headache. “The notes started showing up after we went to interview Chester Davies together. It’s not as if we were trying to hide, as there wasn’t any reason to. Surely someone saw us leave together.”

He nods again, slowly, gazing at her again rather steadily. “Right. And then around the Gryffindor versus Slytherin quidditch game, the whole thing with the love potion-”

“The  _ what?” _ gasps Ron in shock, hands clenching into fists and glaring at Draco again.

She groans heavily. “Merlin’s beard, Ronald, calm down!”

“Tell me what’s this about a damned love potion first, and then maybe I’ll calm down!”

“Shut  _ up, _ Ron,” snaps Harry. “But - really Hermione, what - a love potion! Why didn’t you tell us!”

“Because it was  _ embarrassing! _ ” she snaps. “And it still is! Look at how you’re reacting now - imagine how bad that fight would have been if you’d known!”

“Thought I hit you hard the first time, Malfoy?” snarls Ron, tensing.

“Not at all,” Draco replies snappishly, both boys starting to buffoonishly stick their chests out at each other.

“Look, it wasn’t him, for heaven’s sake! He - well, he was kind enough to me, and he brought me an antidote.”

“Kind to you!” scoffs Ron. “What, he just happened to have an antidote lying around? Come  _ on, _ Hermione, he’s obviously playing you!”

_ “Ron,  _ I will say this one more time - I trust him,” she snaps, glaring at her friend and pointedly avoiding eye contact with Draco. “Now, do shut it and listen - my first strange nightmare was after the Yule party when we - er, danced. The second nightmare was after you - well, volunteered to be my rounds partner. On Valentine’s Day.”

Harry snorts, partly amused but more so concerned. “Oh Merlin's beard, you two were on a Valentine’s Day date weren’t you, what a mess. So - what then, this all revolves around Malfoy? But -  _ why _ ?”

Draco shrugs helplessly. Those shoulders-

“That fog was dark magic,” she continues to summarize, ignoring the eyes and shoulders of every blasted boy in the room. “And the cursed ice - I’d never have guessed a student would have been able to summon such a thing.”

“Good thing you identified it,” Draco breathes heavily. “That stuff might’ve killed you if you hadn’t suggested using fire. I’d been trying to blast it apart. How did you even know what it was?”

“Hogwarts: A History,” she replies at the same time as a smirking Harry and Ron, at whom she shoots angry glares.

Draco blinks at the three of them. “Right…”

“And - well, my chest had started hurting, on account of Dolohov’s curse. That usually indicates that I’m cold. And - ice, you know. It’s quite cold,” she adds awkwardly.

“Right, very cold, usually. Well, good thing you noticed - well, not a good thing that your chest hurt, but - you know,” he replies, far from his usual confidence and managing to somehow equal her awkwardness. “So - what now?”

“I suppose we’re looking for someone who hates me, has been getting progressively more upset at you, is terrifyingly talented at dark magic, and might be a damned oneiromancer of all things. And is an awful artist. Any thoughts?”

Draco’s eyes shift for a moment and she is sure he  _ does _ have thought which, to her disappointment, she is equally sure he won’t share. Damn the boy for still being so cagey, after everything!

“I’ll - see if I can find anything out,” he offers tepidly.

She wishes she could talk to him alone. To make him look her in the eyes and tell her everything he knows - she is nearly certain he would. In any case, Ron and Harry are looking extra protective and showing no inclination of leaving.

“Well,” she sighs tiredly. Her head is throbbing faintly. “I suppose that’s that.”

Draco’s jaw clenches once, but he nods and turns to leave.

“Oy Malfoy, wait up,” calls Harry with a serious expression. He then accompanies Draco out of the wing without a look back.

“Oh goodness, what’s he up to now?” she sighs, looking up at Ron.

Ron frowns at her. “Probably telling your  _ boyfriend _ to make sure he doesn’t hurt you, you know how that speech goes.”

“Ron, we’ve been over this,” she replies with a tired laugh. She really is drained. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Well he’s almost acting like it, isn’t it?” Ron’s frowns deepens. “I can’t really be too mad since he actually literally saved your life, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. But - he really keeps helping you out this year, huh?”

She watches him warily for a moment and thinks on it, willing her heart to stop fluttering. “I suppose he does.”

“And - you really trust him?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Hmm,” is Ron’s only reply.

Not exactly sure what to do or say, she reaches over and gingerly takes his hand, smiling up at him. “The minute he screws something up, you’ll punch him again for me, yeah?”

He grins and gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “You can count on it.”

“Hey, I’m wondering something,” she starts, still tired but starting to feel a little cheeky again, and happy to be alive.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Harry pulled Lavender aside and gave her a threatening speech?”

Ron groans and his ears turn a telltale red.

“I mean it! I’m sure he’s quite concerned about her stealing your precious virtue.”

“Well, clearly you’re recovered, I’m leaving now to go jump into the Great Lake.”

He leans forward and presses an awkward kiss to her forehead, cringes at himself, and nearly sprints away.

She settles heavily into her bed, exhausted and overwhelmed. Her slumber that night is deep and dreamless.


	22. Chapter 22

In the morning, Professor McGonagall comes to worriedly check on her. The deputy headmistress, after assuring herself of the Head Girl’s well-being, informs her that Dumbledore has indeed been away dealing with the situation in London, and that the aurors are debating sending a permanent detachment to post at Hogwarts. They are intending to send a unit for the upcoming Ravenclaw versus Slytherin game.

Apparently, the aurors had concluded that the spell inducing the intensely disturbing fog through the hallway had been concerningly dark, though still unidentified. The news makes her deeply uneasy.

She hardly has the time or energy to create a to-do list. She supposes it would be something like:

-keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble while stuck in the hospital wing  
-study for NEWTs while stuck in the hospital wing  
-do homework while stuck in the hospital wing  
-try to make capstone progress while stuck in the hospital wing  
-convince Madam Pomfrey to let her out of the bloody hospital wing  


To the final point, Madam Pomfrey is unrelentingly committed to keeping her there until at least Friday. A whole week of classes, gone!

She certainly has her fair share of visitors (although one blond-haired git in particular has not been back to see her, despite an apparent inclination to visit and wait with Harry and Ron while she was addled).

The Head Boy comes to visit, of course, bearing an exhausted face stressed with worry and updates about the previous week. He has been working to control the narrative about her attack to ensure the school doesn’t erupt in a panic. He very politely doesn’t complain about his extra workload for the past week, though she is sure he looks rather ravaged by it.

Lavender and Parvati come by with all sorts of good gossip (she and Malfoy are certainly official now, though Michael Corner is apparently quite jealous; Seamus has moved on to Parvati herself, while the other imaginary harem members, Ron and Harry, are both intensely in love with Lavender at this point). Regardless of the content, she can’t help but be happy to have them there, and the normalcy of it all is fairly comforting.

Harry and Ron visit as often as they can, of course, oblivious of their love triangle, and they often bring an additional Weasley with them. Ginny is excessively pleased that the love potion incident is out in the open so she can proceed to make fun of her aloud to no end.

“Oh yes, the love potion incident was rather sweet, actually. He brewed her the antidote himself! Very romantic. But how did you two react about the whole thing with Lucius Malfoy?”

“The whole  _ what _ with Lucius Malfoy??”

“Ginny-!!”

Hannah visits with Neville, both blushing incessantly, and they proceed to be charming and delightful. She thinks they are getting on quite nicely and finds herself rather rooting for them.

Seamus and Dean try to misguidedly smuggle her in some booze inside a couple chocolate frogs. The frogs get drunk and crash into a medical cart before generally wreaking havoc throughout the hospital wing, at which time Madam Pomfrey banishes the two boys in a righteous fury.

Michael is one of the few productive visitors, bringing notes from arithmancy class as well as a chance to test out some new permutations of their arithmancy formula for the capstone. She is quite impressed with the progress he has made, which she points out to him. He smiles, tilting his head and bemoaning the fact that he has had much less luck with acquiring the stone of power from Ravenclaw’s portrait. Some of the other Ravenclaw students have tried to ask her as well, only to be drawn into a losing riddling contest, and he is quite sure she is just messing with them.

“Hey,” he lowers his voice and glances around the room quickly. “It’s true then, what they’re saying? That Malfoy is the one who hexed you during rounds?”

She gasps at that - even Lavender hadn’t suggested such a rumor! “That is not at all true, Michael - he saved my life, actually.” More like she told him what to do in order to properly save her life, but she feels a confusing need to defend him to Michael.

The boy frowns, and not for the first time she wonders about him, having been unable to get a clear read on the boy all year. He had asked her out twice to no avail, but if he indeed has a crush of some sort on her, he has been acting upon it in an odd way. She hopes he isn’t starting rumors about Malfoy hexing her out of some strange form of jealousy. She shrugs off the thought as best she can.

“So who do you think it was? Not those Eagle Eye sorts, I expect?”

“This felt a little more, er, Death Eatery to me.” Frankly, investigating the eagle eye has fallen very low on her priority list, though she doesn’t feel inclined to share that with him.

He nods gravely. “Sort of speaking of which, I have some news - I connected with my man Hilliard. We’re set up for an interview with Millicent Bagnold for next weekend!”

She cannot stop the grin from spreading on her face. “Oh, Michael, that’s  _ wonderful! _ I’d nearly given up hope - she’s such a busy woman. How exciting! But - what does that have to do with Death Eaters?”

“Well, ah, you know how she prosecuted all those Death Eaters after the war? I told Hilliard who all was in our group and he sort of said the visit was contingent on Malfoy not attending. Said it might stir up some negativity for her, you know.”

She frowns deeply, somewhat surprised and disappointed to hear that. “I see.”

He shrugs and offers her a light smile. “It’s not so bad, right? I’m sure you’ll take excellent notes to share with him.”

On Friday evening, she returns to the Gryffindor Tower as a conquering hero. The cheers that accompany her entry almost make her forget that hardly a week ago these same lovely housemates of hers were laughingly calling her promiscuous, based on no evidence. Still, sinking into her favorite chair in the common room and getting praised by the entire house is enough to incline her towards forgiveness.

She doesn’t exactly sleep well that night, but not due to any sort of nightmare invasion - more like a bit of nervousness about the upcoming Saturday events: meeting with the capstone group in the morning; the arrival of aurors at the school; potential for drama at the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game; oh, right, seeing Draco at the capstone meeting and still not talking about the time she kissed him before passing out in the hallway.

She forgoes her usual morning walk, anticipating a bit of difficulty making it all the way around the lake after an entire week recovering on bed rest. In lieu of that, she makes her way to the library early, of course.

She is putting the finishing touches on a DADA essay when he arrives. She can smell that distinctly spicy aroma as he approaches, and her heart once again betrays her by pounding heavily in her chest. She looks up at him, and he’s wearing his snug fitting quidditch uniform and a fairly adorable smirk on his face. She nearly shivers as he takes his seat next to her, and oh Merlin, she wishes she could go back in time to the beginning of the school year before she noticed how attractive the ridiculous boy could be.

“So, Granger,” he starts, smirk widening into a grin. “I suppose I have to thank you for something.”

“Oh?” 

“I was a little surprised you’d never told your bodyguards about that love potion nonsense. You spared me a bit of a beating, I should say.”

She blushes deeply. “Right. Well, obviously our capstone group would be at a disadvantage with only three functional teammates.”

“Of course, we couldn’t have that,” he agrees before glancing around quickly, leaning closer and lowering his voice seriously for the next part. “My father did a bit of research into that fog spell. It’s called  _ Excaeco Somnerri _ , he’s pretty sure, and he said it’s even darker than we thought. Draws on some kind of magic similar to the way dementors do.”

She recovers enough from her blushing to frown thoughtfully. “That makes sense - I felt lost, I suppose, like I was in a maze that I’d never get out of.”

He nods in concerned agreement. “He also said we should be extremely concerned that a student is casting such magic - between that and the cursed ice, it’s powerful stuff.”

She quirks an eyebrow at him. “Did you, ah, mention to your father that I’m the one who ended up getting cursed?”

He hesitates. “I - did, yes. But I was also quite clear that I, his doting son and heir, was also in grave danger.”

She laughs slightly, unsure how else to respond. “I have a feeling he would have been somewhat less helpful if it had just been me in trouble. You know, I’m fairly confident he’d like to murder me.”

A cautious smile starts to spread across his face. “More so than when we saw him last, you mean?”

She blushes violently thinking about how much has changed since their visit to the Manor, and then she cringes at the fact that she has so immediately and obviously shown her hand.

He grins like the cat that got the damned cream. “Ahh, I take it you remember a bit more than you let on, eh? Tell me the last thing you remember before passing out. Because honestly, awful as the night was, I have at least one fairly clear memory about what happened that I might deeply enjoy revisiting.”

He laughs as she tries to shrink back into her chair when Michael and Hannah walk up, regarding them curiously.

“Right - we can keep this brief today, I think,” she recovers quickly. “Michael did some excellent work on the formula last week. Michael, want to share?”

Michael nods enthusiastically as he takes out his journal and runs through the updates with the group.

Draco stretches long in his chair and bumps her leg with his under the table and  _ honestly,  _ that git.

“I also set up our meeting with Millicent Bagnold! We have half an hour scheduled with her next Saturday. But - er, did you tell him, Hermione?”

She raises a dubious eyebrow at Michael wondering if she had been supposed to relay that information from her bed rest. “No…”

Draco raises an equally dubious eyebrow at Michael. “Tell me what, Corner?”

Michael shifts uncomfortably before relaying the fact that Former Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold has no desire to allow Draco to be included in the meeting.

Draco lets out a hearty laugh. “As if I’d care about meeting the old bat. Anyway, Granger’s been laid up in the hospital wing all week. What’s your excuse for not telling me until now, Corner?”

Michael and Draco glare at each other for a moment before she intervenes.

“I’ve reconsidered a previous opinion of mine.” she interrupts. “I think we need to find those stones. We’ve made a lot of progress on the arithmancy front thanks to Michael, but - well, with everything going on around here lately, it sort of seems like the stones might be of some import. Do we agree?”

Hannah nods enthusiastically. “I’ve been keeping the yellow stone quite safe, I promise. Helga Hufflepuff’s portrait hasn’t given me any more clues, but I’ll keep asking her!”

Draco grins and pulls out a chain with a small pouch attached to it from under his shirt. “Good heir-ing, Abbott. The dungeons are a little less safe than the Hufflepuff rooms, I imagine. I’m not about to let any old wanker steal this thing away from me.”

Hannah positively beams at him.

Michael looks a tad dejected, but nods. He and Hannah depart (one with a frown, one with a smile), and she is hardly surprised at this point that Draco is staying behind.

He is glaring after Michael with a suspicious frown on his face. “You ought to watch out for that one. He’s trickier than you think he is.”

“Oh come off it,” she rolls her eyes. “He’s nice enough. Don’t you have a quidditch match to go to rather than complain about him?”

He turns in his chair to face her and his eyes are earnest. “I mean it - just, be careful about trusting him too much, yeah?”

“Are you serious?” she blinks at him. “Be careful about  _ him? _ Frankly, I’m a bit too busy being worried about your chums from Slytherin.”

He frowns at that.

“Nothing to say?” she asks incredulously. “Come on, Draco - it  _ has _ to have been one of them, right?”

“Look - it’s not that easy-”

“It  _ is _ that easy when one of them keeps trying to kill me!” she retorts angrily, instantly furious at him but rather more annoyed at herself for wanting to hold him to a higher standard when she should have known better.

He has the decency to look somewhat ashamed, at least.

“Draco,” she breathes his name heavily, as if weighed down by the stress of it all. “It doesn’t matter what the Ministry says - there’s a war going on. People are  _ dying, _ and I could have been one of them. You  _ know _ that. You -  _ do  _ know that, right?”

“Granger, I-” he shifts his chair a little closer to hers and her heart seemingly skips a beat.

“No, I don’t want to hear it. It’s always an excuse with you, isn’t it? This entire year, you’ve known more than you let on, and you still do. Well let me tell you something, Draco - the war is coming here to Hogwarts, and it’s not going to just ignore you. You’re going to have to choose a side.”

He glares at her, and his eyes are cloudy as a storm. “You don’t think I’ve already chosen a side? After everything, you really don’t know?”

He shifts forward and so does she, and their knees crash together.

“I really don’t know,” she snaps, breathing sharply.

He scoffs, and his breath ghosts against her face. “Well there’s a first time for everything, huh?”

She looks at him earnestly. Her heart is beating heavily, and she holds his eyes, and for just a moment everything feels so much more important than just the two of them. “Draco...I don’t know,” she says quietly. “You can tell me though, can’t you? Trust goes both ways, doesn’t it?”

His jaw clenches briefly, and he stares at her for only an instant before he closes the gap between them, reaching a hand to the back of her neck to pull her closer to him as he presses his lips to hers.

She gasps against his lips (so soft!), but quickly finds herself returning the kiss. It’s - somewhat awkward, perhaps, but still nice. Their teeth clash against each other and it’s certainly not as gentle as she had been before passing out in the hallway. She briefly recalls a conversation with Ginny in which they had debated the extent of his sexual experiences, and she swiftly concludes that he could certainly use more kissing practice before banishing thoughts of Ginny altogether.

His hand at her neck is providing a heavy pressure, and his lips are incessant against hers. It feels  _ electric. _ She wishes she had all day to study how he kisses as she parts her lips slightly. Quidditch player that he is, he takes full advantage of the tactical opening, darting his tongue between her lips swiftly.

He smiles with his tongue in her mouth, and they both can’t help but laugh, breaths mingling together in a rush. She rests a hand against his cheek as she pushes against his tongue with her own, opening her mouth wider and deepening the kiss. He breathes heavily and pulls her closer, and-

An awkward throat clearly from the other side of their table interrupts them, and they instantly both spring away from each other as though burned.

“I - forgot my arithmancy journal,” Michael offers with an emotionless shrug. “Sorry.”

She looks down at her lap as she nods, feeling a familiar blush make its way to her cheeks. Oh Merlin, how mortifying.

He takes his book and shoves it in his bag before casually leaving again.

She risks an embarrassed glance at Draco, who of course, is back to glaring after Michael.

“See that?” he whispers. “His face went all blank. Looked like occlumency, didn’t it? Suspicious business, that - he’s got to be hiding something, yeah? Creepy git.”

She stares at him and a laugh escapes her lungs in a rush.  _ “That’s _ what you want to say right now? You want to talk about Michael, really?”

He glances back at her and smirks lopsidedly. “No. I  _ want _ to not say anything and just go back to what we were doing.”

She blushes and finds herself wishing he was feeling at least a tad embarrassed with her at having gotten caught by Michael of all people with their tongues down each other’s throats. Oh heavens, they were certainly trying to find a way to prove all those stupid rumors right! At least she can feel fairly confident that Michael likely won’t spread the word, hopefully.

“Granger…Hermione,” he peers at her closely and seems to hesitate. When he speaks again, his voice is lower. “Look - I think - I’m sorry, yeah? If I really am somehow the reason that you keep getting hexed, at least partly - well, then maybe we shouldn’t sit around snogging in public. Seems like it might not be the best idea.”

“I’d prefer not to get hexed again, I agree.”

He stares at her, eyes stormy and intense, and he looks like he might kiss her again anyway.

She quirks her lips and looks right back into his eyes, sick of all the blushing and desperately ready to be brave again. “So - what, you’d prefer to sit around and snog in private then?”

He blinks at her for a moment before a slow smile starts to creep its way onto his face.

“I’m fairly decent at keeping secrets you know,” she offers, heart dancing around on top of her lungs and not listening to her brain screaming at her that this is an awful, dangerous idea.

His smile widens into a truly beautiful grin. Goodness the boy has a pretty face, it’s quite distracting. 

“I rather think you’re an open book, but I’ll keep that in mind. We’ll talk, yeah? However, for now, I am excessively tardy for warmups, and I’d prefer not to have to chew myself out in front of the whole team. I’d best be off.”

“Mmmhmm,” she agrees with a smirk. “You’d best.”

He glances around the library quickly as he stands to leave, but not before leaning in and pressing his lips to hers once more. “All right - no more snogging in public starting now. Don’t cheer  _ too _ loudly for me during the game - wouldn’t want to ruin the secret so early.” He departs with a wink.

Unable to stop smiling, and excessively distracted, she thinks this must all really be a terrible idea, because she does the unthinkable - she puts a pause on studying.

Her frivolous little heart is jumping around and cheering her on, and despite knowing how silly it is, she nearly skips to the Great Hall to nab a bit of breakfast. Perhaps she‘ll go down to the pitch to watch the warmups, for no particular reason. Professor McGonagall would surely be happy to see the Head Girl so invested in a game 

Glancing around, she is unsurprised to find the room fairly empty. Likely, many of the Ravenclaws and Slytherins would have left to get decent seats for the match, while certain Gryffindors stayed up far too late celebrating the heroic return of their Head Girl and are sure to be in recovery at the moment.

As she finishes off her pumpkin juice, she glances towards the entryway and sees several of her least favorite burly Slytherins departing, presumably for the stadium. Crabbe nudges Goyle and gestures in her direction with an ugly smirk. Decidedly ill-prepared for such an encounter, she decides to stay put for a few minutes and give them a head start.

“Any of those lads causing you trouble this morning, Granger?” asks Pansy Parkinson, interrupting her reverie.

She is fairly thankful for the girl’s presence, remembering how Pansy had successfully turned the boys away back at the Halloween Party so many months ago. “No. Not yet, at any rate.”

Pansy seems to be watching the boys warily upon their exit. “Good.”

The girl hovers near Hermione’s seat for a long moment, looking somewhat lost in thought, still staring after the group of boys.

Hermione shifts and starts to stand. “All right, Parkinson?”

The girl nods, turning back to her. “All right enough, I suppose. You’re going to the match, yes?”

She nods affirmatively.

“Well, I’ll walk with you then,” Pansy replies, sounding fairly tortured.

She frowns, suspicious for a moment, remembering a time when she had suspected Pansy of possibly being at the center of the conspiracy against her. The girl looks troubled, however, so she tentatively nods again. “Very well.”

They depart the Great Hall in silence, and Hermione decides to wait for Pansy to initiate a conversation. Surely, the girl is accompanying her for a reason, yes?

Luckily, the March weather is warming up. The sunshine feels wonderful on her face, and she is grateful not to have to worry about the curse in her chest acting up.

“So,” starts Pansy hesitantly as they trudge towards the stadium. “All recovered then, are you?”

“For the most part,” she replies, sensing an opening. “Thanks to Malfoy, I suppose.”

“Indeed…any thoughts on who might’ve been responsible?”

She hesitates herself, trying to read the expression on Pansy’s face. Is the girl trying to find out what she knows? Is she trying to protect herself or her housemates? Or - Draco? “I...have some thoughts, yes.” 

Pansy nods thoughtfully. “Good. Keep thinking, Granger.”

“Pansy…” she hesitates again. “Is there anything you might like to tell me?”

Pansy snorts derisively, and clearly she should have known better than to ever ask a Slytherin anything directly. “Nothing at all, Granger.”

She sighs. “Right then.”

The walk continues in silence for a moment, before Pansy picks up the conversation again.

“He’s changed a bit this year, hasn’t he? Draco, I mean.”

“...I suppose so,” she agrees, thinking of how in previous years he’d have never been caught dead protecting her, let alone snogging her in the library.

“Well, we’re not the only ones who have noticed,” Pansy replies vaguely, and it sounds like a warning.

It makes sense, she supposes - every time Draco has done something kind to her this year, there has been some sort of retaliation. The more helpful he was, the more dangerous the retaliation against her had been.

“Can you think of anyone else who may have?” She wishes Pansy would just spit it out. Conversing with cagey Slytherins is absolutely frustrating.

“I’ve known Draco for a long time, you know,” Pansy non-answers, glancing over at her impassively. “I’m not the only one who has. I’m his friend, so I’m happy, I suppose, to see him like this - but there might be some people who would have preferred him to stay as he was.”

To stay as he was? What, on the ever-so-righteous path of becoming a Death Eater? In any case, it sounds like further confirmation that her assailant is a Slytherin.

“I see,” she replies. “Parkinson, that magic in the hallway on Valentine’s Day - it was  _ dark. _ Really dark. I might’ve died.”

Pansy’s face holds tightly. “I - suppose you might want to brush up on your defensive spells.”

Once again sensing a potential opportunity, she jumps in quickly. “I recall you casting quite a shield charm to protect Harry last term, after the Gryffindor Slytherin game.”

The girl’s face seems to screw even tighter, so she decides to try a different approach.

“You know - some of us decided to meet up in order to practice a bit for the DADA NEWT.”

Pansy’s lip curls somewhat. “Got your little club together again, did you?”

“Any interest in joining us?”

“Absolutely not,” Pansy replies, looking aghast. “The last time your group got together, I ended up sprouting antlers for a day.”

She smiles almost fondly at the memory. “Ah, yes, the Anteoculatia spell, I recall. Well, we’re meeting on Thursday evenings in the Room of Requirement, for what it’s worth.”

Before Pansy can respond, likely with something sarcastic, she pauses upon noticing two familiar looking faces standing near the entrance to the stadium. The two aurors who had grilled her and Draco after the appearance of the Dark Mark at the previous quidditch match - Dawlish and Williamson.

“...the election day detail,” Dawlish is grumbling as they approach. “Scrimgeour certainly isn’t worried about Thicknesse. Dumbledore, on the other hand-”

Williamson nudges his partner and nods in the direction of the approaching girls.

Dawlish looks at her directly for a moment, eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare.

“Mr. Dawlish. Mr. Williamson,” she greets awkwardly, trying to hurry Pansy along while simultaneously trying to sort out what that brief comment on Dumbledore could possibly mean.

Williamson nods politely for his part, while Dawlish’s lip curls in a manner that almost rivals Pansy’s.

They finally arrive at the entryway and out of earshot of the two aurors.

“Friends of yours?” Pansy asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh yes, we go to tea on the weekends.”

Pansy scoffs, though it might almost be a laugh of some sort. “Sarcasm? I wonder if Draco is rubbing off on you more than I would have thought. Look, Granger - watch your back today, yeah? Maybe stay near Potter, in case you find yourself in need of any heroics.”

She nods slowly. A warning, then. She briefly wonders how much Pansy knows about her recent interactions with Draco. “Sure. Thanks, Pansy.”

Pansy, of course, rolls her eyes before strutting away towards the Slytherin cheering section.

She quickly locates an exhausted looking Harry and Ginny sitting together and moves to join them. She assumes Ron is making a valiant attempt to sleep through his hangover from the evening prior.

“Was that Pansy Parkinson I saw you walking in with?” Ginny asks with a curious frown.

“It was,” she admits, though she’s not prepared to let them know that she invited the girl to attend the next DA meeting.

Harry shifts in his seat.

Ginny glances at him for a moment before turning back to Hermione. “I don’t know how I feel about you befriending all these Slytherins. With Malfoy, I get it - he’ll always be an awful ferret, but I am always happy to support you being on the receiving end of a thorough snogging.”

“Ugh, please, I don’t want to picture that,” groans Harry, pinching his eyes shut.

“But Parkinson is your best friend now?” continues Ginny, working up some enthusiasm. “Next thing I know, you’ll be down at the Hog’s Head with Zabini and Crabbe and that lot getting pissed on the weekends and nearly setting Hogsmeade entirely on fire.”

“Allow me to counter your points: firstly, I’ve worked with Blaise all year and he doesn’t seem the sort to be getting pissed with Crabbe and Goyle and lighting things on fire in Hogsmeade. Secondly, Pansy has helped me out of a jam or two this year, but don’t worry Gin, you’re in no danger of being surpassed on my friendship ranking list. Thirdly, there really hasn’t been much in the way of thorough snogging as far as Malfoy is concerned, so you can stop looking as though you’d like to vomit, Harry.”

“But there has been  _ some _ snogging?” Ginny grins gleefully.

She blushes, thinking of how just a short time ago in the library their tongues had been practically tangled together. “Of course not,” she stammers, very clearly lying and not fooling anyone.

Ginny’s grin grows broader, Harry’s groan grows louder, and the cheers of the crowd grow intense as the Ravenclaw and Slytherin teams fly out onto the pitch.

She finds her gaze drawn to Draco, of course, and remembers the Gryffindor versus Slytherin game when she had been lustily staring at him whilst under the effects of the love potion. She nearly cringes in embarrassment at the memory, but acknowledges that she had been correct in her assessment back then. He certainly flies gracefully, and there is something about his authoritative demeanor that sparks a fire somewhere inside her.

Ginny giggles and jabs an elbow into her side. “Must’ve been some kiss, eh? I’ll need  _ all _ the details! Oh - don’t look at me like that Harry. If you don’t want to hear girl talk, then don’t sit with the girls!”

She smiles while listening to Harry and Ginny bicker, and as the snitch is released and the game begins, she settles in contentedly, prepared to watch her newly declared secret romantic interest fly around and point dramatically at his teammates.

“Hey-? Look out now!” shouts Harry suddenly as a bludger immediately hurtles in their direction.

She dives to the side with a startled cry as the bludger smashes through her seat, leaving only a splintered husk behind. Unbelieving, she stares through the newly made hole, eyes widening as she sees the bludger slow, turn back, and start bearing fully in her direction again.

“Move!” she shouts to some nearby younger Gryffindors, still staring just as unbelievingly as her, and she rolls into the aisle again as the bludger annihilates another section of seating, exploding into thousands of splinters.

“What-!” screeches Ginny in surprise.

She watches the bludger as if in slow motion. To her absolute horror, the bludger screeches to a halt, ignoring a conveniently located Ravenclaw player, and begins to speed back towards her again. She can hear gasping from the other students as they begin to realize something is going seriously wrong. 

Her heart thuds itself into a panic in her chest.

_ The bludger is aiming for her! _

The black iron ball is hurtling back rapidly, and she doesn’t have time-

She sees Harry to her right reaching for his wand, but  _ there’s not enough time- _

It’s going to kill her-

She prepares to dive desperately out of its path once again, when a swift moving blur swoops in from her left, grasping her hand and pulling her up and suddenly she is on the back of Draco Malfoy’s bloody broomstick and clutching onto him for dear life as the bludger turns to chase after them.

“Why am I always saving your life these days, Granger?” he shouts back at her, twisting and turning and laughing at her.

Too stressed to roll her eyes, she groans instead, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing tightly as they soar.

Before he can continue to gloat, the second bludger makes its presence known by zooming upwards and smashing directly into the back of the broom. Draco grunts in surprise as wood shards explode around them and they find themselves spinning. She lets out a cry, reaching desperately in her robes for her wand as they start to fall through the air.

The air is rushing past them as he struggles to control the broom, while they hurtle towards the ground-

_ “Arresto momentum!” _ she gasps, and they slow down just enough before landing in the grass, and she smashes heavily onto his chest.

“Ow,” he murmurs from below her, eyes screwed shut.

“Looks like I can do some of the life-saving as well,” she offers, panting as she attempts to catch her breath. 

Before he can reply, he opens his eyes and they widen in horror at something behind her.

Bracing herself with her hand against his chest, she directs her wand behind her and upwards and shouts,  _ “Protego!” _

The spell feels  _ powerful. _ She hears the bludger smash hard into her shield, ringing heavily as it bounces away, seemingly stunned. Still braced against him, she turns to look at their attacker as it seems to recover, rearing itself for another attack-

_ “Reducto!” _ The spell escapes her in a rush, hurtling towards the bludger and she watches in astonishment as the thing explodes into thousands of tiny shards of iron which shower down to the ground, pinging futilely against her still strong shield. She looks back down at Draco, who is watching the scene with wide eyes.

“That - was some spell,” he observes breathlessly, gazing at her somewhat in awe. “I suppose that counts as two life-saves for you.”

She can hear the chaos erupting around them, but can’t tear her eyes away from his face. “I still owe you a few, I think.”

“I can think of a proper repayment. Go on a date with me, Granger.”

She blinks at him. “What? Have you hit your head then?”

He grins lightly, looking slightly dazed, and she is sure he must be concussed. “Maybe so. You and me. Let’s go on a date.”

“What happened to keeping things secret? The plan that we decided upon hardly an hour ago?”

“I think it might be a little too late for that,” he replies wryly, gesturing to the space between them. “Not that I’m complaining, however.”

After a moment, she realizes what it must look like to the rest of the school, still shouting in the aftermath of the panic. Draco is lying smirkingly on the ground beneath her, and she is literally straddled on top of him with her hand still splayed upon his chest. For Merlin’s sake, his hands are resting on her hips!

She tosses her head back and groans, snatching her hand back and quickly rolling off of him to sit on the ground.

He laughs, and it sounds like music.

“Miss Granger! Are you alright?” Professor McGonagall rushes up to her, wand at the ready and eyeing her Slytherin counterpart suspiciously.

“Fine, Professor,” she replies shakily, brushing off all the wood splinters and grass as she stands. She tries to catalogue her status: she thinks she might have a small cut on her forehead from a wood splinter, her heart feels like it is planning to eject itself from her body, and her embarrassment level from her Draco Problem is nigh infinity. But otherwise, fine!

“I’m fine as well Professor,” calls Draco from the ground. “Fear not, I broke the Head Girl’s fall for her.”

McGonagall’s face tightens as the two aurors approach.

“That was one hell of a blasting charm!” the thinner auror with the ponytail, Williamson, enthuses to Hermione.

“The other bludger has been taken care of,” Dawlish tells them, eyes narrowing somewhat as he looks upon the two students.

“I’m exceedingly grateful that the auror team was able to successfully dispose of a single rogue bludger,” McGonagall replies snappishly.

“We’re here to look for Death Eater activity, not to babysit your students,” Dawlish replies harshly. “Rogue bludgers! You expect us to track down every little prankster in your school? Shall I fetch the Minister himself and ask him to personally inspect your quidditch equipment prior to every game?”

“You might show him how you beat your bludger, you wanker,” Draco mumbles, still on the ground though now sitting up.

She gives him a sharp kick to the shin.

“You may as well return to the Ministry, Mr. Dawlish,” McGonagall replies chidingly. “As it seems Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy here might be better equipped to handle your jobs than you are.”

Draco grins cheekily at Dawlish, who glares at the lot of them, while Williamson looks down at his feet bashfully.

McGonagall, after assuring herself of the well-ish-being of her students and insisting to them that there will be a most thorough investigation, accompanies the aurors off the pitch.

She hears the curfew spell reverberating through the air, and concludes that Blaise has the situation well in hand.

“Draco-” she hesitates. “I have a thought.”

“A thought, from that big brain of yours? What a surprise!” His grin is still somewhat loopy, and she thinks he certainly needs an escort to the hospital wing. She helps him to his feet and he wavers somewhat unsteadily.

“Hush, I’m serious. The reducto spell I cast on the bludger - it was  _ powerful.  _ It felt stronger than usual, I’m sure of it.”

“And?”

“I wonder - well, my hand was on your chest,” she blushes slightly as he smirks. Shouldn’t she have run out of blushes by now? “It felt like my hand was on top of your pouch with the stone of power.”

She watches him think about that information for a moment. “You’re thinking the stone amplified your magic? I’m not sure about that - I’ve been wearing it for weeks now and haven’t noticed that effect.”

“Strange…Maybe it could detect that we were in danger? If it’s supposed to help provide some sort of protection for the school…” she trails off with a shrug.

“Maybe,” he agrees, eyes narrowed. “Your point?”

“I think we really need to get the other two stones.”

He nods. “I agree. Let’s brainstorm some ideas together, shall we? Get dinner with me tonight.”

“You’re serious?” she laughs, heart fluttering once again.

“Very serious,” he grins. “You’ll have nothing to worry about - we have our protection stone, after all.”

_ Nothing to worry about until the next time I’m alone and someone tries to kill me in an empty corridor. _

“I can’t tonight. I missed an entire week of classes, I fully intend to spend the rest of the weekend studying.”

He looks somewhat crestfallen at that, so she continues.

“And of course, I’ll still be catching up throughout the week...however…”

She smiles as he perks up once again.

“I expect on next Saturday evening I might be able to schedule you in for dinner.”

He nods seriously. “Do I need to request permission from Potter and Weasley?”

“I fully intend on never letting them find out. Now come on, let’s get you to the hospital wing.”

Despite his protests, they make their way back to the school rather companionably. He whines quite a lot, as he is wont to do when injured, but as Madam Pomfrey shoos her away, he leaves her with such a dazzling smile that her entire body seems to flutter.

Thinking upon Pansy’s warning from earlier in the day, she casts a disillusionment charm on herself before returning to the Gryffindor tower. Despite her evil little heart betraying her and being pleased at the new developments with Draco, yet another high profile incident involving the two of them is certainly not what either of them needed. Every time the boy does something kind to her, there is some serious retaliation from -  _ someone. _ After publicly saving her life in such dramatic fashion, she cannot help but dread what is in store for her.

As an added benefit of the disillusionment, she manages to sneak past her housemates, who she is sure will have some choice commentary for her on the Malfoy Incident.

When she arrives in the girls dormitory and removes the disillusionment, exhausted from the events of the day and ready for a deep slumber, she is a little surprised to see a crying Lavender sitting with Parvati, who looks to be comforting the girl.

She hesitates, always unsure of how to proceed in situations like this, when Parvati makes eye contact with her and rushes over.

“She’s in a right state, Hermione. Ron broke up with her this afternoon. I’ve been trying to help, but I’m not sure what else to say. Maybe you can try talking to her?”

Hermione cringes for a moment. Great - probably another development out of which the blame will be laid at her own feet. She wishes Ron would have mentioned his plans to give her some time to prepare for the inevitable awkwardness with her roommate.

Lavender looks  _ so _ distraught, however, so she finds herself nodding at Parvati and making her way to sit next to the crying girl.

“H-Hermione,” gasps Lavender through the tears, leaning over and wrapping Hermione in a tight embrace. “Ron b-broke up with me!”

Ah, hugging. Lovely. Better than hexing, at any rate. She awkwardly raises an arm around Lavender’s shoulders and sort of leans into the embrace. “I’m - sorry to hear that, Lav.”

Lavender hiccups against her shoulder. “I thought things were going so well! He never even mentioned that anything was wrong. How do you and Draco make it work, Hermione?”

“Draco and I are not -” she sighs, thinking that for the first time, maybe they  _ are.  _ Oh goodness. Well, at least it doesn’t seem her roommate thinks she stole Ron away, so that’s unexpectedly pleasant. “It’s a little different for us.”

Lavender sniffles lightly. “I suppose so. Did Ronniekins say anything to you? He didn’t even tell me  _ why.” _

She shakes her head in response. “Ron is - well, he is many things, but he is not the most eloquent when it comes to discussing emotions.”

Lavender giggles through her sniffling for a moment. “That’s true, certainly. When I told him I loved him, he told me he loves the Chudley Cannons.”

Oh, Ronald. She is hardly surprised.

“I suppose he’ll be running back to you shortly,” the girl sighs heavily.

“Well, I wouldn’t take him if he did. Us girls have to stick together, don’t we?” 

It’s an awkward olive branch, but it seems to do the trick as Lavender looks up and smiles shakily at her.

“There,” Hermione smiles in return. “Silly boys aren’t worth crying over. A good night’s sleep will help you feel better, I’m sure.”

Lavender sniffles again, eyes still brimming with tears. “I’d prefer not to dream tonight,” she says somewhat dramatically. “I saw you brewing dreamless sleep draught the other day - might I have some?”

She sighs heavily, but nods, rising to fetch the potion. She had brewed a significant amount in preparation for defending herself against her mysterious dream invaders, and certainly is planning on taking a dose herself after the incident with Draco earlier in the day. Her research in how to protect oneself from an oneiromancer has been depressingly unproductive. The best advice she has found has been to take the dreamless sleep potion and try not to get addicted to it while the oneiromancer tires himself out.

“I suppose you’re sick of analyzing dreams then?” she asks, handing the potion to her roommate with a sympathetic smile.

Lavender shrugs as she downs the draft. “Divination is my favorite subject. I thought you knew that?”

“I mean - aren’t you including a dream interpretation aspect in your capstone? Blaise had mentioned it to me a time ago.”

“Oh, no, we are not. I had wanted to of course, but Blaise quite refused from the start. Hey - you spend a lot of time with him, right? Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”

She frowns deeply trying to process Lavender’s response. She briefly answers the girl unsurely before wishing her a good, peaceful night. Wandering back towards her own bed, she quickly takes a dreamless sleep potion as well.

She clearly remembers having a conversation with Blaise in the library - it was several months ago, before the appearance of the Dark Mark at the quidditch game. She had poked fun at him for having a dream interpretation book - The Dreambinder’s Grimoire, if she recalls correctly - to which they had both shared a laugh about Lavender and Hannah being insistent on the subject.

It - might mean nothing, right? It might mean nothing that shortly before the dream invader began making appearances in her nightmares, Blaise was reading a high level book on dreams for some unknown reason.

But one thing is clear, if nothing else - the Head Boy lied to her.

She drifts uneasily into dreamlessness.


	23. Chapter 23

Her list has become a tangled web of impossibilities.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, though Ron’s most serious threat is from the squad of women who are irritated at him for breaking up with Lavender so suddenly  
-Investigate the potential Death Eater students: ongoing, with a bit of Blaise stalking in her future  
-Convince the DA members to be accepting of potentially allowing Pansy in on the meetings: in progress, trending negatively  
-Find the heirs of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw: she wishes there was more progress here  
-Harry is still refusing to visit Gryffindor’s portrait, so she is deciding how best to trick him into it  
-No luck from Ravenclaw; apparently, the woman has come to enjoy messing with the students who ask her about it, sending them on various impossible quests across the castle to prove their worth to her; one poor fifth year has been counting the total number of stairs in Hogwarts for the last week, and another the candles  
-Convince the school that she is not responsible for the suspension of the quidditch season: impossible!  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: impossible!  
-Stop stressing out about her upcoming meeting with Millicent Bagnold: impossible!  
-Stop stressing out about her upcoming date with Draco Malfoy: more impossible!

By the time she hears the story retold, after Draco Malfoy saved her from a fire-breathing dragon on the quidditch pitch (which - how the story evolved in such a dramatic way when the majority of the school was literally right there at the game is beyond her), the two of them shared a hearty bit of snogging before fleeing an entire team of aurors whilst riding said dragon.

She fumes quietly to herself, wanting to be very clear that  _ she _ had saved  _ him _ as well. Twice!

In addition to the usual amount of stress surrounding her relationship with Draco, she has a new problem as well. With McGonagall suspending the quidditch season indefinitely, a lot of the blame has transferred directly to the Head Girl. After all, she is the only one who has been gettIng attacked recently, hasn’t she? Maybe  _ she _ should simply be banned from the games! Any good will she had garnered from the students after surviving the attack in the fifth floor corridor was immediately lost upon getting attacked by bludgers and invalidating a quidditch match. Even if the season ends up continuing, matches will have to be  _ rescheduled, _ can you imagine?

She stands next to Harry in the Room of Requirement somewhat nervously waiting for the DA members to filter in for practice. She has been preparing something like a speech for the group in the event Pansy actually does show up, imagining some less than pleased reactions.

Harry elbows her gently and nods towards Lavender. The girl is surrounded by a large group, all females, all shooting death glares in Ron’s unsuspecting direction. 

“They look like they want to hex his bits off. He sort of deserves what’s coming to him, doesn’t he?” Harry laughs slightly. 

She observes the group dubiously. “He certainly could have been nicer to Lavender about it. I expect he’ll be on the receiving end of some hexes before the evening is up. It’s for the greater good, I suppose - they could use the practice, and he needs to work on his shielding charms.”

He nods seriously. “All we need to do is to trick Voldemort into wrongfully breaking up with Lavender, and he won’t know what hit him. A whole squad of girls promising to never date him - can you imagine?”

“I imagine he would be devastated,” she agrees.

“Dating,” he scoffs. “It’s for the birds. I think I might just quit altogether and go live in a monastery somewhere in the mountains.”

“Oh yes - at the tired old age of seventeen, your romantic highs are certainly behind you. And - er, I suppose I should have warned you about something, Harry,” she hesitates, watching as more of their classmates file in. 

He raises a curious eyebrow at her.

“I sort of - er, invited Pansy Parkinson to join us here tonight. I’m sure she won’t show, but - I just thought you should know.”

He exhales sharply. “Was this before or after you got attacked by psychotic angry bludgers?”

“Shortly before. She was cagey, but gave me a bit of a warning about Crabbe and that lot. I never thought I would, but I think I sort of trust her? Are you and her-”

He cringes. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere. She literally cannot stop rolling her eyes at me.”

She laughs and slaps him on the arm. “Well neither can I. Did you ever stop to think that it’s your fault for acting so eye-rolly?”

“Bah,” he waves her off. “But you don’t  _ mean  _ it! I reckon it’s a Slytherin thing.”

“Come on now,” she sighs exasperatedly. “Unity, remember? If I can’t even count on you being supportive about inviting Slytherins here, then who  _ can _ I count on?”

“No, no, I support you. Besides - I should warn you about something as well. I sort of invited a Slytherin to come tonight myself...I  _ really _ doubt he’ll come, but-”

Her stomach drops and twists and turns and she stares at him. “Harry…”

He looks away, suddenly very interested in inspecting his fingernails.

“Harry,” she repeats tersely, her voice about an octave higher pitched than usual. “Would you like to tell me which Slytherin you invited?”

She gets her answer as the door to the Room of Requirement opens, and the two Slytherins walk in with similarly bored expressions on their faces.

Her heart plunges as she gazes at Draco, and for just a moment she recalls all the salacious rumors that used to swirl about his romance with Pansy before shaking her head of such thoughts. Surely she knows better than to believe any silly rumors by now, doesn’t she?

Silence descends on the room as her fellow DA members glare at the newcomers in suspicion. Draco raises an eyebrow and smirks at her before settling into a confident stance.

She sighs and turns to Harry angrily. “You could have at least warned me, you know. I had an entire speech planned and this - well, this is going to make it somewhat more difficult.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles with a slight grin, and she makes a mental note to revenge herself upon him most severely.

She sighs again and addresses the group. “Right. Thanks for coming, everyone. Today we’ll be practicing our Patronus Charms as we always do, followed by the blasting curse-”

“Not with  _ them _ here, surely?” interrupts a surly sounding Anthony Goldstein. He is standing around with Terry Boot and Michael Corner, who look equally grumpy and unnaturally indifferent, respectively. “They’re the Inquisitorial Squad!”

“They -  _ were,  _ yes,” she agrees tentatively, glancing uneasily at the two Slytherins, whose arrogant expressions are not helping her out one bit. “But they’re not anymore. I’m sure you will all recall the Headmaster’s speech from the beginning of the year. Times are changing - unity is important, rather than focusing on that which divides us-”

“He’s a  _ Death Eater,”  _ grumbles Terry Boot. “Why should we let him practice spells he’ll just turn around and use against us?”

She watches Draco shift slightly. “Nobody here is a Death Eater, Terry, stop being ridiculous. Now, if you can all pair off-”

“Just because he’s your  _ boyfriend,” _ barks Anthony vehemently.

She blinks at that and can feel the tension rising in the room. She once again has the uncomfortable feeling that she is missing something important. The Ravenclaw boys seem rather vicious - but why? On behalf of Michael’s tepid crush on her, or something else? 

In any case, Draco himself chortles slightly, and the three Ravenclaw boys glower at him.

“Whether he is or isn’t my boyfriend, it’s none of  _ your _ business,” she snaps.

Anthony looks ready to snarl at her, as does Terry, while Michael seems to be doing his usual bout of occluding.

Before anyone else can respond, Harry takes an authoritative step forward. “Oy, listen up you lot. I invited Malfoy to come today. He helped Hermione deal with the cursed ice attack in the corridor back on Valentine’s Day and can help detail what we’re up against. Got it? And I’m quite sure Parkinson can cast a better shield charm than you, Goldstein. I’ve seen her do it. If any of you have a problem with the two of them, then you’ve got a problem with me.”

The tension is palpable, with the Ravenclaw boys still glaring daggers at the Slytherins, when another voice speaks up.

“And with me,” calls out Ginny enthusiastically. “Hey, Parkinson - come partner with me, we can practice the Patronus Charm, yeah?”

Pansy looks less than thrilled, but nods and walks over towards Ginny. As she passes Hermione, she mutters, “If I end up sprouting antlers before the end of the day, you’ll owe me a drink, Granger.”

“Come on then, Malfoy,” pipes up Ron. “You’ll be needing a partner as well.”

She, along with the rest of the room, gape at Ron in surprise. Harry and Ginny are smiling proudly. The group of girls around Lavender are still glaring at him, but she notices Pansy’s lips quirk upwards into something like a smile.

Draco, for his part, shrugs and walks towards Ron with an arrogant smirk.

She is excessively grateful for the Weasley family in diffusing the situation and supporting her and Harry, although she decides to surely check on their tempers throughout the evening.

The group breaks off, some more sullenly than others, into pairs to begin their warm-up exercises. Harry has been encouraging the group to keep practicing the Patronus Charm so as to stay fresh, as it is one of the more complex charms they have learned. She is quite proud of her classmates, many of whom have advanced to being able to produce fully a corporeal patronus.

She sees Luna’s hare twirling happily about the room, and Seamus’s fox skirting between Dean’s legs. Pansy is almost looking impressed as Ginny’s horse trots closer. Ernie MacMillan’s boar is lighting up the room. She is a little intrigued to see Michael and Anthony working on some bit of magic she has never seen before - Anthony’s reindeer patronus is trotting around him in a circle, while Michael is seemingly casting a spell to buffer the reindeer’s strength. The reindeer glows brighter and brighter. She makes a mental note to find out more about that, provided Anthony has calmed down, as it’s a fascinating concept!

She and Harry practice with each other briefly, with being able to cast the charm nearly second nature for them at this point. She notices he glances over at Draco nearly as often as she does. Draco had managed to produce a bit of mist, but was clearly uninterested in listening to Ron’s guidance.

As Harry is about to intervene, she steps forward and takes a hold of his arm. “Mind if I take this one? It might take some effort - and surely, the others could use you more.”

Harry looks at her for a moment before grinning. “You really have it bad, don’t you? How embarrassing. Didn’t I expressly forbid you from liking him for real at one point? Thought I was pretty clear about that.”

“Shut up, yeah?”

As she approaches him, she hears Ron’s back-handed attempt at advice.

“If you practice enough you’ll  _ definitely _ be able to get a corporeal patronus, don’t worry mate. I bet yours will be a nasty little cockroach, probably.”

“I assume yours is just a splattered tomato?”

“Mine’s a Jack Russell Terrier. You know, the most loyal and hard working animal there is,” Ron puffs out his chest.

“More like the most yapping and annoying,” snaps Draco.

She rushes up as Ron starts to open his mouth in a retort. “How’s it going over here?”

“This terrier keeps yapping in my ear, it’s awfully distracting,” Draco drawls at Ron.

“Maybe you’re just awful at charms, eh?”

“I’m  _ excellent _ at charms, Weasley. You’re clearly a terrible teacher. Granger, want to tutor me instead? Maybe somewhere a little more private?”

She sighs, really not in the mood for dealing with the boys needling each other when there are so many higher priorities. However - Draco is looking at her with more of a smile than a smirk, and she finds herself smiling back and ignoring Ron’s groaning.

“A lot of the success comes from your mental state,” she explains. “You need to familiarize yourself with having a clear mind, and focusing on positive memories. This is really advanced magic, Draco - it’s far beyond regular NEWT level studies.”

“What’s your patronus? A grumpy kneazle, I assume?”

“No, an otter.”

He raises an eyebrow. “An...otter, really? Hmm.”

“I’ve researched it extensively, it makes sense,” she insists indignantly. “They’re intelligent, focused, good problem solvers, and - well, some interesting new research indicates they have a fear of failure, you know, which my experience with the boggart seems to align with. Why, what would you have thought mine was?”

“Your experience with the boggart?” he repeats, amused. “What’d you see?”

“McGonagall failing me on all my exams,” she mutters, looking away.

“That one didn’t surprise any of us,” Ron laughs lightly.

Draco laughs as well, and she is suddenly struck by the thought that she dearly does not want the two of them to suddenly start getting along only to team up against her.

“To your question, Granger, I would’ve figured your patronus would be...oh, I don’t know, let me think,” he drawls, and she is certain he has an idea already in mind and braces herself. “You’re smart enough, and stubborn. A little temperamental-”

“Temperamental!”

“-and competitive. You hate restrictions, you’re violent about freedom, and you’re loyal to a fault.”

She frowns deeply, unsure if she is being complimented or insulted or both. “Okay. Which animal is that then?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Sounds a little bit like AN EAGLE, doesn’t it?” He grins and shoots a look at the Ravenclaw boys, at whom the remark was clearly aimed at. They glower back in good turn.

She sighs, having perhaps hoped that he had been attempting to flirt with her rather than pick a fight with the other boys, but nothing for it. “Well, otters are nice as well.”

“Sure, otters are nice. But eagles are intimidating! Besides,” he continues, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Flying is the best. I expect  _ mine  _ will be a dragon.”

“I still expect it will be a cockroach,” Ron chimes in with an eye roll. “Maybe a flying cockroach, yeah? But unless you stop flirting and start practicing, I suppose we’ll never know.”

She blushes deeply while Draco smirks at her, and she steps back in a rush to give him room to cast a spell. She glances at Ron who seems to be torn between laughing at her and being a little sad at the way things have started to turn out.

“Focus, Draco,” she says, turning back to the boy. “Remember - clear your mind as best you can, and focus on positive memories.”

Draco readies his wand and closes his eyes, taking several steadying breaths before calling out the phrase.

_ “Expecto Patronum!” _

A mist slowly starts to escape his wand, stronger than before, and it starts to form a shape. He’s doing it! The mist starts to faintly corporealize, and-

Ron immediately guffaws, pointing at the glowing feathery animal. “Well, you got your wish on the flying part. A pretty little peacock! You ponce, Malfoy!”

Draco gapes at the patronus in front of him before glaring at Ron violently.

It really is quite a lovely peacock, she thinks, though still a little more misty than a potent version of the charm would be. It swiftly dissipates into the mist again, as its conjuror is somewhat distracted.

“Well done, Draco!” she applauds, shooting Ron a pointed look.

“A bloody peacock,” Draco mutters grumpily.

“Did you see it’s  _ feathers?” _ laughs Ron.

“Peacocks are quite clever,” she insists while Draco continues to stew. She takes a step closer and nudges him with her elbow slightly. “And a bit arrogant. I think it suits you!”

He glowers at her and she grins back at him.

“Oh come off it, I’m just teasing. May I ask, what memory were you thinking about?”

He hesitates before leveling her with a fairly intense smirk, and she is immediately sure she shouldn’t have asked. “Well, I was thinking about that time you and I were sitting in the library the other day. You couldn’t keep your hands off me, of course, and then we-”

“Ahh, I can’t listen to this,” mumbles Ron, slapping his hands to his ears and turning away. “Oy Harry, wait up!”

She slaps Draco lightly on the arm. “Oh come on, you didn’t need to do  _ that _ to him.”

He grins. “I  _ did _ need to do that to him. You should see the way he looks at you, I needed to clear up a few things for him. Besides, it’s true enough - I was thinking about you.”

She blinks at him in surprise, and a little uneasily. It surely couldn’t be that the memory of briefly snogging in the library was powerful enough to produce his first corporeal patronus. There has to be quite a strong emotional connection in order to-

“Stop overthinking so much, Granger,” he laughs slightly, though his concerned eyes betray his demeanor. “Come on, show me that beaver of yours, eh?”

“That would be an otter, you git.” She certainly does  _ not _ stop overthinking, but she does show off her patronus and is pleased when he is impressed.

“Not bad, Granger. Not bad at all. So is this what you lot do here every week?”

“We practice quite a lot of spells,” she replies. “Mostly defensive, for protection, but some offensive as well. Harry is an excellent teacher, you know.”

Draco smirks. “I don’t know, no. And even if it were true, you can hardly expect me to admit it, after seven years of being faithful nemeses. Although, it looks like he’s a bit distracted right now, doesn’t it?”

She follows his eyes and sees Harry looking  _ incredibly _ awkward standing with Ginny and Pansy and providing some instruction. Ron is walking up to them as well, and when he bumps Ginny with his shoulder she elbows him in the stomach and the poor boy doubles over.

“Er - yes, well, maybe a little. So did Pansy convince you to come tonight, or the other way around?”

He shrugs. “Actually, we were both absolutely intending on not coming at all. Potter invited me after you woke up after Valentine’s Day. I surely wasn’t going to walk into a hex-practicing club without backup, so I told Pansy she had better come with me. She convinced me that it was stupid, and we decided to go to the pub instead.”

She frowns slightly, possibly with a tinge of jealousy at the thought of Pansy being able to casually go get a drink with him. “And then?”

When he looks at her, his face is quite serious. “And then you got attacked by bludgers at the quidditch game. I’d - er, asked her to keep an eye on you.”

“You - did what!” she gapes at him, but it sort of makes sense. She had been genuinely surprised when Pansy accompanied her to the stadium that morning.

He shrugs. “She’s a smart girl. She knows she can’t stay out of it all forever, and she’d been the one to suspect there might be another incident at the game.”

“Draco-” she hesitates, deeply mortified at herself for wanting to know the answer to this question. “Did you and Pansy - well, you two dated for a time, didn’t you?”

He raises an eyebrow at her with a curious smirk. “Jealous, are we?”

“I am  _ not,” _ she insists, looking away to study the floor intently.

“Fear not, Granger,” he laughs. “Despite being each other’s dates to the Yule Ball, Pansy didn’t manage to steal away my virtue. I suppose my father tried to arrange a marriage contract with her family a time ago, but that fell through.”

She blinks. A marriage contract, what does that - wait, Pansy didn’t steal away his virtue? What does  _ that _ mean?

“Besides, I’m dating you now, aren’t I?” he grins at her.

“Well - technically we haven’t started dating yet, if our first date isn’t until Saturday,” she sputters.

“Not quite a denial, eh? I guess I’m glad I came to this little club of yours after all. I cast my first patronus,  _ and _ got to hear you not deny that you’re dating me.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice. “See that? Arrogance. You’re peacocking.”

“Peacocking!” he bristles.

“Exactly so!”

“We have a lot of them on the grounds at the Manor, you know - that’s probably why - well, this was my first time. Just you wait, I’m sure I can find a way to turn it into a dragon.”

The rest of the meeting progresses more or less smoothly, aside from one awkward incident. She watches Ginny be much more successfully patient with Pansy than Ron had been with Draco. She gets pouted at by Seamus and Dean for inviting Draco, and excessively thanked for inviting Pansy (“Because - those tits!” exclaims the ever excitable Seamus). She helps Hannah Abbott with the proper wand movements for the blasting curse, to limited success. She checks in with Michael Corner, practicing with Anthony Goldstein, to try and smooth over any hard feelings and possibly find out a bit more about that charm they had been messing around with earlier.

Michael casts a smooth  _ Confringo _ at the nearby mannequin, resulting in a rather fiery explosion. “All good, Hermione,” he shrugs indifferently.

Anthony is a bit more vocal in his displeasure. “Call me crazy, but I still just don’t like the idea of having those snakes here with us. I don’t trust them.”

“Well Harry does, and so do I,” she replies with a frown.

Anthony scoffs. “Don’t tell me he ploughs you so good that it makes you forget what an evil prat he is, eh? Or does all that  _ evil  _ shit do it for you? Never would have thought you were the type, honestly.”

She physically jerks back in surprise and can feel her jaw drop.

“Hey man, shut up,” sighs Michael.

“Bah,” Anthony waves his hand in the air. “She’s been fucking half the school, and  _ Malfoy’s _ the one she stuck with? I can’t think of too many reasons for  _ that. _ You might’ve dodged a bullet there, eh Mike?”

“Shut  _ up, _ Anthony,” Michael snaps angrily.

She gapes at them in horror, feeling blood pounding in her head and she wonders if she should test out her blasting charm prowess on Goldstein himself. 

“Whatever, I bet he calls her a ‘Mudblood’ while they’re doing it,” laughs Anthony, glaring at her haughtily. “Maybe we should just wait for those Eagle Eyes to sort this out, eh? They seem to take it to the Death Eaters this year, don’t they? They cast magic stronger than the Dark Mark!”

She turns on her heels swiftly to leave before she turns Goldstein into a pile of ash. She had shoved the stupid Eagle Eye nonsense so low on her priority list that hearing it even mentioned throws her for a loop. Not for the first time, she is nearly convinced the Ravenclaw boys are at the center of it, and despite their clear disapproval of her romantic decisions, she feels much less likely to get murdered by them than by the Death Eaters. She resolves to ignore them even harder.

Michael grasps her elbow as she strides across the room. He looks quite abashed. “Hermione - I’m really sorry about Anthony. That was inappropriate. He didn’t mean it. You know how he gets, yeah?”

She sighs heavily and looks at Michael closely. He is not occluding, so far as she can tell, but she finds herself feeling almost suspicious of his motives. She has long thought he had a bit of a crush on her and a bit of a grudge against Draco, but certainly not intense enough to inspire such vehemence towards her from his friends.

“Sure, I know how he gets,” she agrees tentatively. “Michael…”

He regards her earnestly.

She sighs heavily again. While she wishes she could ask him about that charm he was casting on top of the patronus earlier, she decides that it can wait. Best to convince the boy to get over his crush now, versus letting it fester. “Look, Draco and I are going on our first date this weekend. I promise not to let it interfere in the group's progress, but I wanted you to know.”

His face drains of all emotion immediately and he shrugs. “Good. Thank you for telling me, I suppose. We’re still on for the meeting with Millicent Bagnold on Saturday, yeah?”

She watches him warily for a moment before nodding.

“Good. I’m arranging the travel situation and will be in touch,” he replies succinctly before returning to his partner, who continues to alternate between glaring at her and Draco.

After the meeting adjourns, with some extensive scowling between certain students on their ways out, she exhales heavily and smiles at Harry. 

“That went - interestingly,” she offers.

“That’s one word for it,” he laughs in reply. “Ron and Ginny want to grab some food - come along?”

She nods, but before the four of them can depart, they are approached by the two Slytherins.

“What a fun evening,” Pansy starts dryly, eyeing the group.

Ginny shifts heavily and glances at Harry.

“Glad you could make it,” Harry replies less-than-smoothly.

“Hey Parkinson, did you see Malfoy’s tiny little peacock?” Ron grins enthusiastically.

“Sod off, Weasley,” Draco growls.

“Calm down, lads,” Harry intervenes. “We’ve gone an entire evening without hexing each other - let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

Draco glares at Ron for a moment longer before turning back to Harry. “Look, Potter, I was thinking - if that barmy prophecy is true, and there  _ is _ some sort of attack on the school - well, you lot can use whatever help you can get, right? I might be able to brew some potions. Strengthening Solution, Magic Fortification, Felix. You know, that sort of stuff.”

Harry looks almost as surprised as she feels. “That - would be great, Malfoy, yeah.”

Draco nods. “All right then.”

“Hey, we’re heading to the Great Hall,” Harry offers hesitantly. “Any interest in joining us?”

She stares at him in surprise, as do Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Pansy.

Draco shifts uncomfortably. “Actually...I’ve got something to talk to Granger about. Hang back for a minute, yeah?”

She blinks and nods. “Sure.”

“Something to talk about, ugh,” Ron mutters with a roll of his eyes while Ginny grins next to him.

“Parkinson?” Harry’s blush is pronounced.

Pansy raises an eyebrow at the group and looks as if she smells something foul.  _ “Absolutely not.” _

As the rest of the group departs, with Ginny mentioning that she will be waiting just around the corner for details, Draco approaches her.

“That was - nice of you. About the potions.”

“I’m always nice,” he grins.

“That is categorically false.”

“Fine. I am occasionally nice.”

“Less than that, I’d say,” she smiles back, reflecting for a moment how odd it is to simply joke around with him without fearing any sort of reprisal. “What did you want to talk about?”

She has all sorts of hopes for the conversation topic, and in fact has several potential avenues plotted out. If he wants to talk about their date on Saturday she is more than prepared. If he tries to kiss her, she has several witty comments planned. Classes, or the capstone? Too easy. If he wants to talk about something completely random, she-

“Can you tell me about the curse Dolohov hit you with?”

She blinks and stares at him. This was certainly not where she thought he would go, and she doesn’t have any witticisms available for this topic. “Well - I had silenced him, so obviously I don’t know the incantation. I’ve researched extensively and haven’t found any known spells that align with the effects. His wand movement went something like this-” she shakily demonstrates a violent slashing motion in the air, “-and there was a flash of sort of a purple wave of light, like a flame.”

He frowns deeply when she hesitates. “Did it cause any external damage?”

She shakes her head, not really enjoying dwelling on the memory. “No, I wasn’t cut or bruised anywhere...but it felt like I was being torn open from the inside…” she shivers slightly. “I was sore for days. Madam Pomfrey had me taking nearly a dozen different potions daily in order to recover properly. I felt - well, it was - it was awful.”

His eyes soften somewhat into a concerned sort of look, and he shifts again. “And now, you generally only notice pain when the weather turns?”

She nods. “I felt it in the hallway that night as well. When it started hurting, I assumed it was from my body temperature dropping and guessed that it was cursed ice at that point. I’ve tried to come up with a cure, of course, with no luck so far.”

He nods seriously. “I - well, I was thinking that I might be able to brew a potion that can help...you know, if you’re interested in that. I have access to some books from my father’s library that might be more helpful than what you’ve been reading here. They’re a little more - um, restricted I suppose. Plus, he, er, has some familiarity with how Dolohov operates.”

She lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “Are you sure your father wouldn’t prefer you casting it on me yourself, rather than healing it? I expect he has heard about the, ah, developments between us.”

“He has heard something about that, yes,” Draco admits cautiously, watching her with appraising eyes. “He wrote me a letter detailing his strongly worded disapproval, but he also gave me advice on how to act like a proper gentleman on our date. I’m to pull your chair out for you before you sit down, you see.”

“That...seems like good advice, I suppose,” she replies, fairly bewildered.

“Right. Well then - see you later, Granger.”

He leans in to kiss her as she is formulating a reply, and the result is more of a face collision than a kiss. Their noses bump and their teeth clash against each other. He pulls back immediately, clearly embarrassed as she laughs.

“We - er, might need to practice that a little bit, yes?” she offers, rubbing at her nose with a grin.

He nods enthusiastically.

“I hope that time in the hallway wasn’t your first kiss,” she smiles, vaguely recalling his startled eyes from that night, shortly before she passed out.

He pales for a moment, and she gapes at him in surprise. It hadn’t  _ really _ been his first kiss, surely?!

“Of course it wasn’t,” he recovers quickly. “I’ve kissed loads of girls. Pretty much constantly snogging. That’s what they say, isn’t it?”

“Well, I’ve learned not to put much stock in rumors this year,” she replies smoothly, repressing a grin. At his mortified blush, and noting that he still doesn’t react well to being teased, she decides to spare him and his pride. “Maybe let’s try once more, yeah? You just - be still, keep standing there for a moment.” 

He looks more bashful than she has ever seen him, or might even have imagined he could achieve. She steps forward and takes a deep breath, inhaling that spicy scent of his and taking in his nervous eyes. When she presses her lips to his, he smiles against her mouth as he gently grasps her hands. She holds herself there for a moment, gently brushing her tongue against his lips before withdrawing. It is a quick, simple kiss, and she backs away and looks up at him smilingly.

“There, that’s how it works without hurting each other’s teeth.”

She had already known that she was better than him at arithmancy and ancient runes, and it is something of a pleasure to discover that she is the better kisser of the two as well.

“I told Weasley you’d be an excellent private tutor, didn’t I?” he grins at her in amusement.

“Better than Ron, to be sure, though you’re certainly welcome to practice with him a bit if you like,” she agrees teasingly. “Now, I have to go - I’m sure Ginny is waiting just around the corner for a full report about your kissing abilities.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here and practice a bit more? I’d like to give you something more impressive to gossip about.” He waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.

She smiles at him, somehow simultaneously feeling bashful yet brave. “I’m quite sure, but - maybe we can revisit this discussion after our date?”


	24. Chapter 24

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, though she wants to slap Harry for continuing to refuse to acknowledge at least the potential of being Gryffindor’s heir  
-Investigate the potential Death Eater students: ongoing, with no luck in gleaning Blaise’s motives thus far  
-Investigate the Eye of the Eagle: no, she refuses to spend any more time on this, despite the fact that she wants to slap Anthony Goldstein silly  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: impossible!  
-Stop stressing out about her afternoon meeting with Millicent Bagnold: impossible!  
-Stop stressing out about her evening date with Draco Malfoy: more impossible!

“Well, I don’t care what you say - I’m proud of you for it anyway,” she insists to Ginny, in reference to Ginny’s steadfast support of her and Harry during the previous DA meeting.

Ginny shrugs. “I’m telling you, the next time I have a crack at Pansy Parkinson, she won’t have it so easy. This truce was a one time event.”

“Still though - I thought we were about to have a revolt on our hands. So - thanks.”

Ginny shrugs more dramatically. “I sort of think she’s not really interested in Harry, don’t you? Thought I saw her eyeballing my brother for a moment. Another indicator that she’s awful and has terrible taste.”

Hermione laughs. “Come on now! Are you mad at Ron too?”

“He was  _ awful _ to Lavender, and he won’t even admit it, the git!”

She nods in agreement, having spent several additional evenings comforting her roommate through her tears. If they can manage to convince Ron to at least apologize to the girl, it will certainly free up a lot of her spare time.

Suddenly, the object of their discussion approaches them in a rush, slumping heavily into the chair across from her at the library.

“Did you hear about the muggle?” Ron asks, eyes wide.

Hermione and Ginny both stare at him incredulously. 

“What muggle?”

“A muggle walked up to the school this morning! Sauntered right in through the front door, happy as you please,” Ron enthuses, face in awe.

“That’s impossible,” Hermione breathes heavily. “There are far too many muggle repelling charms! Not to mention, muggles should hardly even be able to see the castle - just dangerous ruins which they should compulsively avoid. Impossible, Ron.”

“It’s true!” he insists. “Seamus heard it from a couple of fifth years, and they saw McGonagall running around having a conniption!”

“Right, well while I definitely trust these anonymous fifth year students, I’ll wait to hear it from McGonagall herself, thank you,” she snaps, though a part of her remains uneasy. She remembers the words of Godric Gryffindor’s portrait, as well as Tonks and her fellow auror Dawlish, about the school wards weakening. The fact that a muggle could actually walk up to the school-

No, impossible. If a muggle can do it, surely breaking into the school will be a walk in the park for the Death Eaters, should they decide to attack.

“However,” she continues thoughtfully. “I suppose this is a good time to bring up the stones of power. I  _ really _ would like to convince Harry to talk to Gryffindor’s portrait. Can you two help me badger him about it?”

Ron scoffs. “You really think that nonsense will actually help? Or are you just worried about your capstone mark?”

“...It’s possible to have more than one reason,” she admits.

“Bah. If that stupid prophecy is still predicting that  _ Malfoy _ is going to help save the school, then I absolutely refuse to believe it.”

She turns to glare at Ron for a moment, but Ginny intercedes on her behalf.

“Speaking of Malfoy, what are you doing on your date with him tonight, Hermione? Besides a heavy dose of snogging, of course.”

Ron blanches, and Ginny at him grins toothily.

She smiles at her friends and tilts her head curiously. “And I would tell you...why? So you can steal Harry’s invisibility cloak and follow me around?”

Ron groans and rests his head in his hands. “Ugh, why would anyone  _ want _ to? You and - Malfoy! I still can’t wrap my head around it. Are you  _ sure _ he didn’t permanently addle your brain back on Valentine’s Day? Or maybe Malfoy Senior cursed you, or something? It’s barmy, that’s what this is.”

“I’m quite right in the head, and maybe you’re just bitter about being single again,” she snaps.

“Bitter? No way, I’m a free agent over here! Do you know how many dates I’ve turned down in the last couple weeks? A lot, that’s how many!”

Ginny makes eye contact with her and they both roll their eyes before turning to glare at Ron.

“Right,” Ginny starts. “And who are all these women you’ve been turning down? Any ideas, Hermione?”

“Well, I know it wasn’t Parvati or Padma, since they promised Lavender they wouldn’t date him. Same for Hannah and Susan. And Mandy. And Lisa.”

“Did Daphne Greengrass have the honor of getting rejected by you?” Ginny grins. “I doubt it, as I’m fairly sure that despite sharing classes for seven years she still doesn’t know that you even exist.”

Ron glares at them grumpily.

“You know, Ginny,” Hermione continues, exchanging glances with her friend. “I wonder if those girls who swore an oath to never date Ron might change their minds if they were released from their promise.”

“Released from their promise? Oh my, what would it take to accomplish such a thing?” Ginny plays along.

“Well, they made the promise to Lavender, didn’t they?”

“So - you think that, perhaps, an apology to Lavender might cure my dear brother’s ills?”

“An apology!” gapes Ron. “But what do I need to apologize for? People break up all the time without needing to apologize!”

The next few minutes pass by with her and Ginny attempting to explain that spontaneously breaking up with someone who thought things were going well, with no explanation whatsoever, was ungentlemanly at best, and downright rude at worst.

“Not sure I should take advice from someone who is dating a bloody ferret,” Ron grumbles.

The ferret himself shows up in short order, along with the rest of the capstone group. The intent of the meeting is to run the first iterations of the arithmancy formula and see if the occupation results seem reasonable. Although the formula has taken something of a backseat to all the prophecy nonsense, she is quite excited at the prospect, particularly hoping to have a favorable report for the meeting with Millicent Bagnold that afternoon.

“Wow,” breathes Hannah, gazing in awe at the intricate formula. 

She imagines what the formula must look like to someone not well versed in arithmancy or ancient runes. It is massive and sprawling, certainly, but entering the basic variables (full name for the onamacy number, age, house, marks, wealth, etc) and with a flick of a wand, their most likely future path will be calculated.

It’s - more complex than reading tea leaves or interpreting a dream, she supposes, but certainly more logical.

The first entry is Percy Weasley. As they prepare to enter his information, even Draco and Michael seem to put a pause on their typical bickering. Michael takes charge of enchanting the scroll with the formula such that repeating the equation will be simple, while she and Draco enter Percy’s information.

“Name - git. Age - git. Wealth - laughable,” Draco mutters as he twirls his wand, withstanding a glare from her.

“I think - that should do it,” she says, glancing around the table nervously. “Michael - you put in the most effort on the formula. Would you care to do the honors?”

He beams at her for a moment and nods, and she is a little worried that he might be reading a little too much into the gesture. In any case, he waves his wand over the parchment and loudly recites,  _ “Futurae Ostendo.” _

They all lean closely and observe the parchment. For a moment, nothing happens, and she can hear her teammates holding their breath.

Then, as expected, the ink of the variables sinks into the parchment. She can almost hear the equation being processed, almost like the whirring of her parents’ computer back home. Various runes light up and dim down rapidly, and she watches the application of the Rule of Four enthusiastically. After what feels like several minutes of the equation working, letters start to appear at the bottom of the page. Those letters eventually congeal into words.

She leans forward excitedly and reads the words aloud. “Ministry of Magic employee. Well, that’s exactly what he is! It’s a little generic perhaps, but it - it worked!”

Hannah lets out an excited cheer, and even Draco looks enthused.

Michael grins happily. “I wasn’t sure it would actually work! You know,” he leans a little closer and lowers his voice slightly. “This wouldn’t have been possible if you hadn’t discovered the Rule of Four. We figured it out together.”

She nods uncomfortably. “It was good teamwork all around, I should say.”

The next few iterations are met with different amounts of success.

Chester Davies - Auror!  
Marcus Flint - Quidditch Referee.  
Helen Dawlish - Ministry Archivist?

“Can we try ourselves?” Hannah asks shyly.

“Only if you let us guess what you’ll get,” Draco insists with a grin. “I vote for the supreme leader of St. Mungo’s healing division for you. Probably a supermodel for me. Filch’s assistant for Corner, and Minister of Magic for Granger. Get some pointers from the former Minister later today, yeah Granger?”

His babbling is met with blushes, anger, and dubiousness from his respective teammates.

Ultimately, he was wrong on all four of his guesses, though not entirely off base. Additionally, the attempts prove that some tweaking of the formula is in order.

Hannah gets a form of healer, in fact - a matron. More like an expert healer with leadership responsibilities. While Hannah blushes, the rest of the group agrees that it seems like a reasonable outcome.

Michael emerges as a journalist, which he seems underwhelmed by, and loudly announces that he will be further refining a few of the variables surrounding Kyne’s Principle.

Draco watches nervously, and so do the rest of them, surely wondering what sort of dark profession might emerge. The formula seems to take longer processing his results than anyone else's so far, but before long an answer emerges - potioneer.

He looks up at her immediately and grins, seeming startled and relieved. He even lets out a little laugh.

“Bravo, Draco!” cheers Hannah with a joyful smile. Michael shrugs blankly, while she meets Draco’s eyes intensely for a moment.

Hermione herself declines to put herself through the equation, explaining to the group that although the approach is based in logic, she still doesn’t want her future defined by something out of her control - much like the tea leaves. She wonders if any of them catch her gazing longingly at the complex parchment on the table in front of her.

She, Hannah, and Michael agree to meet, sans a pouting Draco, at the floo promptly at three o’clock, giving them plenty of time to get to the Bagnold Foundation for their meeting with the former Minister.

On his way out of the library, Michael glances back and forth between Draco and herself and almost looks as though he wants to say something, before sighing and shuffling away.

“A potioneer,” Draco enthuses to himself. “Obviously I’d prefer to have no job, and simply exist while being wealthy, but it’s nice to have backup options. And - well, it’s nice to not be destined for Death Eatery, I suppose.”

“You  _ are _ good at potions,” she admits, somewhat begrudgingly remembering his occasional higher marks than her, and additionally remembering his father’s threat to disown him.

“I think I’ve made some progress researching the, ah, Dolohov-curse-reversal potion. My father sent me a book on the topic which is rather useful. He says he never liked Dolohov much and would be happy to help one-up him.”

“Oh,” she replies dubiously, unsure of what to say about suddenly becoming a pawn in a game between two Death Eaters.

As if sensing her unease, Draco smiles lightly. “You know, I might need to take a closer look at your chest. For research purposes, of course.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Careful, I’ve been just itching to slap someone lately.”

“Ah, well, maybe aim for Corner. Reporters are not to be trusted,” he nods sagely. “So tell me, why did you really not run through the equation yourself? I’d have thought you’d be dying to know.”

She stares at him for a moment, somewhat surprised that he would ask. “I told you - this is a more logical approach, but it’s still divination. I don’t want to know what it thinks I should be.”

He raises an eyebrow dubiously. “I saw you staring down the parchment. You can tell me what you’re thinking, you know.”

She looks at him hesitantly, thinking of all the times she has been quite sure that he is withholding something from her, but he looks so earnest for once, and somewhat more relaxed than normal. “I - don’t want to know what it says for me because I don’t want to know what I’ll be missing out on.”

He frowns at her curiously. “Missing out on? What do you mean?”

She shrugs heavily, glancing around and noticing that the library is somewhat more crowded than usual. She lowers her voice when she continues. “I’d love to pretend that I can have a normal life after graduation. I’ll be able to work nearly anywhere I want - I could work in the Department of Mysteries, or a bookstore, or at Millicent Bagnold’s foundation. But it’s - well, it’s not in the tea leaves for me, so to speak. The war will only get more dangerous, and I’m in it until the end. Wherever this fight drags Harry off to, I’ll be right there with him.”

He sighs deeply, watching her thoughtfully. His eyes are speckled with gold, scattered amongst the steely gray. “That’s an awful lot of pressure you’re putting on yourself, Granger. I must say, I feel as though everyone likes to forget the fact that we’re still teenagers, aren’t we? Seems as though more adults should be getting involved rather than just waiting around for you to drag Potter into saving them.”

“I suppose,” she admits with a frown, not particularly wanting to spill the secrets of the Order of the Phoenix to him. “But - when it’s something this important, if there’s something I can do about it then I have to try, don’t I?”

He looks at her even more thoughtfully, and for a moment she thinks that if there weren’t so many people in the library he might lean in and kiss her. “Yes, you’re too serious right now, you need a distraction. Come with me for a second.”

He offers his hand to her, which she accepts curiously, and he leads her through the library stacks. They pass an exasperated Ron chewing out an indifferent Crabbe (“How can one person be  _ that  _ thick? Honestly, it’s almost like you’re purposely trying to be stupid at this point!”), and she absolutely cannot wait to remind him that he could have started the project months ago, as she did. Draco takes her to a bookcase against the back wall. Entirely isolated, she thinks she has a good idea of what his intentions are.

He guides her until her back rests against the bookcase and smiles at her lightly, resting a hand on the shelf above her head. Sometimes, with all the sitting they do at their study sessions, she forgets how breathlessly tall he is. He leans forward, much more confidently than their previous moments together, and kisses her.

He rests a hand against her cheek, and she smiles against his lips. Curious about what he’ll do, she parts her lips slightly, allowing him more access. He doesn’t disappoint, deepening the kiss much more intensely than she might have predicted. His hand trails down from her cheek to her neck, rubbing circles in a particularly sensitive spot and his tongue dives into her mouth.

She shifts against the bookcase, gasping a little against his mouth and grasping a handful of his robes and pulling him closer. She battles back fiercely against his tongue with her own, and he shifts his hips just a little closer to hers.

She nearly shivers against him.

His hand starts to trail gently down from her neck to her shoulder, fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She in turn reaches up to snake her hand from his neck up to the back of his head, grabbing at a tuft of his perfectly groomed hair, and a part of her wants to drag her hand through the entire mop just to see his reaction.

His hand makes its way slowly, torturously slowly, from her neck down her arm, sliding closer and closer to her breast. She is vaguely aware that she is wearing a white button-up, and it’s ever so thin, and his hand moves just a little closer, and-

They both groan against each other, inhaling the sounds as he grasps her breast.

His lips make a slight  _ plopping _ sound against hers as he pulls back from her for a moment, and opens his eyes, dazedly looking down at her as if asking for permission. She can’t help but smile as she nods, leveraging her hand still entangled in his hair to bring his mouth to hers again, before he slowly dips lower, tracing kisses along her jaw.

His thumb grazes her nipple, rubbing gentle circles against her as his lips locate  _ that spot  _ on her neck, and she drops her other hand down to his hip, wanting to be even closer, and-

She is sure her heart is pounding loud enough for him to hear, and-

He leans forward and shifts his hips into her, and oh, she can  _ feel him _ pressing against her, and-

She inadvertently bucks her hip against his length and he  _ growls _ against her neck before pulling back with a heavy gasp.

They both pause for a moment to catch their breath, and she smiles as she looks up at him.

“That - went a little better than last time,” she starts breathlessly, head spinning and nearly at a loss for words. “I hope you haven’t been practicing without me?”

He blushes somewhat and continues to stare at her with heavy eyes. “I did some light reading on the subject.”

She lets out a short laugh, still short of breath. “I hope not from some horrible dark book in your father’s library?”

“Worse,” he admits solemnly. “I nicked one of Pansy’s stupid Witch Weekly magazines.”

“I always assumed that was where you got your hair strategies.” She notes that his hand is still resting on her breast and he is still pressing heavily against her, and thinks she might need a quick cold shower before meeting the Minister that afternoon.

He starts to lean forward again, but she reaches up to brace her hands against his chest.

“I have things to do, you know,” she grins, leaning up to peck him once on the lips before shoving him away and darting out of his grasp, leaving him gaping after her in surprise.

He follows her with a laugh as she makes her way back to their table.

“You know, no matter what your future holds, you can certainly expect a proper date tonight,” he tells her. “But no matter how hard you try, I refuse to put out on the first date.”

She scoffs at him playfully. “We’ll have to see about that - I’m quite sure you’re underestimating me.”

“Sounds like a fatal mistake you’re making there, Draco,” drawls the voice of their Head Boy as he approaches the table. “You should know better than to underestimate this one by now.”

While she appreciates the compliment, she observes Blaise warily for a moment, hoping that he hadn’t actually overheard much of that conversation. The boy looks fairly run down. He is a bit thinner than he was at the beginning of the year, she thinks, and he looks like he could use a good night’s sleep or two.

She briefly wonders if an oneiromancer is actually awake when he invades another’s dream, and makes a note to research that later.

But really - Blaise, an oneiromancer? It’s a ridiculous thought. Oneiromancers are rare enough that there is hardly one per century. Could Blaise of all people actually be one? And - why would he want to invade  _ her _ dreams in such a menacing manner? She likes to think they have gotten along throughout the year, and they seem to have been working well together.

“Oh, I certainly know better than that,” Draco replies with something of a cold smile as he eyes Blaise.

Blaise returns the smile equally coldly, and not for the first time she is struck by the fact that she will never fully understand how Slytherins operate. She would have sworn before this year that the boys were fast friends, yet she continuously witnesses a disconcerting coldness between the two.

She wonders what Draco really knows about the boy, and if it has anything to do with her. She resolves to confront him about it later, even at the risk of ruining their date.

The boys stare at each other for a moment longer before Blaise turns to her tiredly. “McGonagall asked me to inform you about this muggle situation that’s going on.”

She gapes at him. “I’d heard a rumor that a muggle walked up to the school, but - I didn’t really believe it! It’s actually true?”

Blaise nods seriously. “It was just some bloke. He walked right through the front door. They had to call in an Oblivator, of course.”

She tries to read his face for any signs of excitement or enthusiasm or anything at all, but he only looks exhausted. She glances at Draco, whose face is rapidly expressing emotions ranging from concern to dubiousness.

_ The wards are weakening. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those of you who have left comments/feedback, much appreciated! <3 We're rolling towards the endgame, hope you're enjoying!


	25. Chapter 25

Still somewhat shaken and thinking about the Hogwarts wards, she meets her capstone group (minus Draco) and they make their way to Millicent Bagnold’s office at her Foundation.

The Foundation building is quite large, nearly the size of the Ministry itself, and decorated in a sort of Victorian style. It reminds her of when she had poked fun at Draco for having such an obnoxious plan for decorating the Manor.

“Pretty cool, isn't it?” Michael grins.

_ Pretty wealthy, _ she thinks, but she nods while Hannah enthuses.

In short order, as promised, they are greeted by Robert Hilliard, who rushes over to shake Michael’s hand. Michael introduces him to the rest of the group.

“Ah, yes, Miss Granger - our Michael here has told us about you,” Hilliard smiles politely with a firm shake of her hand.

Michael glances down at his feet while she raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? Only good things, I hope,” she replies uncomfortably.

Hilliard smiles and chortles politely, and she thinks the man is certainly a politician at heart and regards him dubiously.

“The Minister is always excited to meet Hogwarts students,” Hilliard explains as he leads them down a long hallway towards her office. “Particularly those with so much potential, such as the three of you.”

_ Former Minister _ , she thinks to herself, a little put-off by Hilliard’s showmanship.

They continue towards Millicent Bagnold’s office, and Hermione is a little surprised at how ostentatious the decor is. It’s a bit gaudy, with portraits of the former Minister plastered on nearly every panel of every wall. There is one of her helping a group of orphans after the War directly next to one of her on stage Doing the Hippogriff with the Weird Sisters, which in turn is directly next to one of her at something of a hearing, passing judgement on two Death Eaters in full regalia.

With a dubious eye, she notes another portrait of the former Minister having tea and gabbing with none other than her old nemesis, intrepid Daily Prophet reporter, Rita Skeeter.

When Hilliard finally leads them into the large office and directs them to have a seat, she and her two companions gaze around the room in varying degrees of awe. She can tell Michael is impressed, and Hannah is a bit overwhelmed, while she herself is unsurprised, having expected much of the same from their trip down the hallway.

The former Minister’s gigantic desk actually reminds her a bit of Lucius Malfoy’s, if a whiter version rather than the dark mahogany.

Her eyes turn to Millicent Bagnold herself, finishing up her flourish of a signature on some paperwork before turning her eyes to them. Her gaze is -  _ intense.  _ The woman is somewhat older, but certainly dignified with an air of authority about her. Her hair is a glorious silver, sparkling under the light of the room, and her deep purple eyes are intensely focused on the three of them. She smiles brightly, and Hermione is nearly overwhelmed but senses a calculating gaze behind the veneer.

“Ah, thank you Robert. These are my young students from Hogwarts, yes? How lovely! I remember you, Michael, from your internship with us last summer of course.”

“Ma’am,” Michael greets her with a beaming smile. “Might I introduce my teammates, Hermione Granger, of Gryffindor, and Hannah Abbott, of Hufflepuff.”

The woman spares a brief glance and smile for Hannah before turning her gaze directly on Hermione for a moment. She shifts somewhat under the intensity of the woman’s stare, but remembers the fact that Draco had been specifically disbarred from this meeting to spare her feelings. Hermione straightens and holds her head high, meeting the woman’s eyes. Ms. Bagnold, for her part, smiles slowly before turning to Hilliard.

“How wonderful. I’m a Ravenclaw myself, though I promise I won’t hold your houses against you! Robert, you are welcome to stay if you like. I understand you’ve been working on an arithmancy formula for your capstone project this year. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

As they had planned, Hermione takes a step forward and introduces the concept of the project briefly, focusing on the arithmancy portion rather than the divination. Michael then explains how they developed the formula, and unexpectedly credits Hermione for intensely researching the Rule of Four, before summarizing that he had pieced together the rest of the formula and they entered the testing phase just this morning. Hannah concludes by describing the results they have reached so far, and that while some further tweaking of the formula is in their future, it is shaping up quite nicely.

Millicent Bagnold pays them the most undivided attention, bright eyes flickering with interest as she nods along with the presentation, interrupting only occasionally with questions. Robert Hilliard stands smilingly next to her, and Hermione briefly wonders if there is ever a moment when the man’s smile drops.

“Wonderful,” Bagnold announces at the end of their (brief) presentation. “Absolutely wonderful. I take back what I always say about Hogwarts, Robert - perhaps old Dumbledore actually does know what he’s doing up there!”

Hilliard continues to grin and laugh politely while the three students shift uncomfortably. As the former Minister shifts in her seat, it appears as though she is preparing to dismiss them.

“That’s - not all. We discovered a bit of a prophecy too,” Michael blurts suddenly, and Hermione gives him a hard stare for going off script.

Bagnold turns back to Michael, purple eyes fiery in their intensity. “Oh?”

Michael nods enthusiastically, glancing back and forth between Hermione and Hannah apologetically before launching into a brief summary of Hufflepuff’s prophecy and the search for the four heirs.

“Fascinating,” the woman muses thoughtfully. “How absolutely fascinating. And you’ve not identified Ravenclaw’s heir yet?”

Michael seems to shrink back under her gaze and he shakes his head.

“Hmm.”

The former Minister rises to say farewell to them individually. She gives Hannah a handshake and a few murmured words, Michael much the same, and comes to a pause in front of Hermione.

“We’ve heard of you around here, of course, Miss Granger,” she says with a quiet smile.

“Oh?” She tries to stop her jaw from dropping and looking like a fool.

“Indeed. We keep track of the most promising students around the globe. We’re always looking for potential recruits to the philanthropic cause.”

Hermione nods, not voicing the thought that the gigantic desk in the middle of the room could probably sell for enough to help provide food for an entire army of orphans. Michael glances over and shifts heavily next to her.

“Usually they’re from my own house of Ravenclaw, naturally, but we try to keep an open mind. You’re to finish the highest in your class and do quite well on your NEWTs, I’m sure. Have you given much thought to your post-Hogwarts career? Politics is a bit up in the air right now, of course, what with the upcoming elections. You might want to consider - other opportunities.”

_ Wow. Is the former Minister of Magic trying to recruit her? Really? Wow! _

“Some, Ma’am. There are quite a lot of intriguing options.”

“Well,” the woman continues, reaching out to shake her hand enthusiastically. “Do be sure to keep us in mind. We could always use such talent as yourself.”

As she reaches out to take the woman’s hand, she pauses, staring at a small marking on the woman’s wrist. It’s a tattoo, and it looks like-

It’s a symbol, and it’s-

Two triangles surrounding a circle. The Eye of the Eagle. It’s the former Minister of Magic’s tattoo, and it’s the Eye of the stupid Eagle which has caused her so much annoyance throughout the school year.

“That’s - an interesting tattoo, Ma’am,” she comments as they touch hands.

The woman hardly blinks, holding her gaze intently. “Oh, this old thing. I got it back in my Hogwarts days. Tell me something - you’ve really no idea who the Heir of Ravenclaw might be?”

The woman’s grip on her hand tightens, and she blinks at the change in topic. “No, not yet I’m afraid.”

“Hmm. Well, have you tried asking her?”

They’ve sent nearly every Ravenclaw in the school to ask the portrait with no luck as of yet, she thinks with a heavy sigh.

As they depart the Foundation, her head is nearly spinning. That tattoo - could it  _ mean _ something? Symbols are powerful, as Harry had reminded her some time ago. What are the odds of it all just being a coincidence?

She has enough to stress out about, thinking of her upcoming date with Draco, that she doesn’t want to add the Eye of the Eagle  _ back _ to her list of stressors, after having so recently committed to ignoring them.

Michael is somewhat subdued as he sulks away upon their return to Hogwarts, while Hannah assures her that the meeting went swimmingly, and that they’ll find the Heir of Ravenclaw in no time.

With a sigh, she heads back to the Gryffindor dormitory.

Ginny and Lavender help her pick out her outfit for her date with Draco, which she suddenly finds herself feeling bashful about. She wonders if she should hunt down Seamus for a nip of firewhiskey to steady her nerves before the second big event of the day.

Then again, after snogging him senseless not five hours ago  _ and  _ getting complimented so intensely by the former Minister of Magic, she thinks perhaps she should be more confident.

After consistently rejecting Ginny’s outfit ideas (“Your tits look  _ amazing _ in that outfit, the ferret will lose his mind!”), she settles on something casual  _ (“No,  _ I said you want your tits  _ out,  _ not hiding behind all that fabric!”).

“I think you look nice, Hermione!” chimes in Lavender with a smile.

“See?” she grins at Ginny. “Nice. That’s what I’m going for.”

They had agreed to meet in the entrance hall near the front doors, though she is five minutes early and not surprised not to see him. She is surprised, however, to see a bored looking third year Slytherin whose name she has forgotten (Overcliff? Overhill? Oversomething) leaning against the wall, straightening as she approaches.

He starts walking towards her and she braces herself, preparing for some sort of prank or revenge or kidnapping or - something.

The boy looks her over haughtily. “Malfoy gave me five galleons to wait for you. Thanks for showing up early.”

She blinks at him curiously. “Why did Malfoy give you five galleons to wait for me then?”

“To tell you that he’ll be thirty minutes late.” The boy actually looks her over appraisingly, and she is quite sure she is not above slapping third-years, but he saunters away.

Thirty minutes late. She briefly wonders what he could be up to, but decides she may as well use her time wisely.

_ ‘Have you tried asking her?’  _ Millicent Bagnold had asked her about Ravenclaw’s heir. Others had asked, certainly, but noting that she hasn’t tried directly herself, she heads towards the western corridor on the fifth floor - not far from where she and Draco were attacked during Valentine’s Day rounds, in fact. She shivers at the memory, but rushes onwards towards Ravenclaw’s portrait.

The woman is standing gracefully, if looking a bit bored, in her portrait. She is beautiful - flowing brown hair, draped in blue, wearing a sort of tiara upon her head. She glances down at Hermione expectantly and a hint of a smile graces her features.

_ “Only one color, but not one size, _  
_ Stuck at the bottom, yet easily flies. _  
_ Present in sun, but not in rain, _  
_ Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.” _

“A shadow,” she answers immediately, remembering her father challenging her to riddling contests when she was a girl.

“A shadow,” agrees Ravenclaw. “Something you fear, Head Girl, and rightly so.”

She blinks and stares at the portrait in confusion, wondering how the portrait could possibly know about the shadow creatures haunting her dreams. “Look, the wards are weakening,” she starts, deciding she has more pressing concerns to deal with. “I’m sure you know this. We need to be ready for an attack - and it’s coming soon.”

Ravenclaw raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing.

She sighs but continues on. “I need your stone of power. Please. I’ll - I’ll bring it back, or I’ll give it to your heir if you like, but I need it. To protect the school.”

Ravenclaw shifts, smiling slightly before moving backwards and out of her portrait. Hermione stares after her in confusion, wondering if the woman just got bored and left, or if she went to fetch the thing. Or if she went instead to fetch sodding Gryffindor’s portrait so they could laugh at her together for feabley attempting to collect all of the stones.

She gets her answer momentarily when Ravenclaw returns bearing a bright blue beryl stone and holds it out to her.

She starts in surprise, having expected from Michael’s stories to be sent on some stupid impossible quest, yet here it is - all she had to do was solve an easy riddle, explain the situation and say please.

She reaches out and the moment her hand makes contact with the painted stone, it materializes in her palm. It feels  _ heavy _ and magical, just like the other two stones. It fairly thrums in her hand. She slips it into her bag, promising herself not to let it out of her sight until she can secure the stone properly.

Glancing back up at Ravenclaw, she frowns slightly. “May I ask, why did you give this to me? I’m sure that several worthy Ravenclaws asked you for it.”

Ravenclaw tsks at her for a moment, looking disappointed. “Go forth and be brave, little Gryffindor, but be clever as well. Go, and return my stone to me when you are through.”

"Can you tell me who your heir is? We’ll need them, surely.”

“When the time is right, my heir will be revealed,” Ravenclaw responds vaguely, with a note of finality in her voice.

She nods with a sigh and departs the hallway, noting that she has nearly ten minutes to return to the Entrance Hall to meet Draco. She starts to walk that way, wanting to process her somewhat confusing interaction with Ravenclaw’s portrait, but she backs up against the wall and casts a quick disillusionment charm on herself when she notices a student rushing down a nearby hallway, glancing around suspiciously as if to ensure he isn’t being followed.

_ Blaise. _

She hesitates for a moment, wishing she had her own third-year peon to send along with messages to her dates informing them of her tardiness.  _ He  _ was late in the first place - she decides she can snoop on Blaise for a few minutes, and still be reasonably on time to meet Draco.

She casts a quick muffling spell on her shoes so they don’t squeak so loudly when she walks, and hustles down the hallway after the Head Boy. He keeps glancing around nervously, but doesn’t notice her under her disillusionment charm.

She follows him up two flights of stairs (pleased at the fact that her conditioning has improved dramatically), and down a rather long, familiar hallway.

He glances around again, clearly nervous, and stares in her direction for a long moment.

She freezes, knowing that her illusion hasn’t worn off, but she also knows that they aren’t as perfect for hiding as, say, Harry’s invisibility cloak. She holds her breath and stays very still.

She is standing near an empty classroom and is debating ducking into it just to avoid Blaise’s stare from the other side of the hallway, when suddenly two similarly disillusioned very strong arms reach out and yank her inside. She gasps as a hand clasps itself over her mouth.

“Quiet, Granger,” whispers a familiar voice. “Just watch.”

_ Draco. _

Blaise is still looking in their direction suspiciously, but she feels safer with a wall between them as she watches through the doorway, wrenched taut against Draco’s chest.

She can feel him breathing, slowly and deeply.

_ “Impedimenta!” _ shouts Blaise, the curse springing off his wand and crashing into the wall just outside the door.

She gasps against Draco’s hand and nearly jumps in surprise before he wraps an arm heavily around her waist to hold her still.

“Shh,” he warns quietly, shifting behind her.

She nods against his palm, and he drops his hand from her mouth, keeping his other tightly wrapped around her waist. She leans forward and gazes out the door again. Blaise seems satisfied that he is not being followed, and proceeds to open the Room of Requirement.

She hears more footsteps approaching, thudding loudly down the hallway, and she sees Blaise look up with a frown.

“You’re late,” he snaps, voice somewhat shaky.

“Whatever,” responds the husky voice of Vincent Crabbe, approaching heavily with Goyle, loyal as ever at his side. “Come on then.”

Together, she and Draco watch as the boys march into the Room of Requirement, and the door zips itself up behind them. They stare at the door for another long moment before exhaling heavily at the same time.

“Please tell me you didn’t get so bored waiting for me that you decided to stalk another bloke around the castle,” he offers, still at a whisper.

“I didn’t,” she insists, also whispering. “I got bored waiting for you and went to do other things. Stalking Blaise was a happy coincidence.”

“Happy coincidence!” he huffs. “You should know better than that by now. He’s  _ dangerous,  _ you don’t want to be running into him in the hallway by yourself at night.”

“Dangerous! That’s ridiculous! I’ve done rounds with him plenty of times by myself at night this year. What makes you say that? Want to finally tell me?”

He hesitates, finally releasing her waist so she can turn to face him as they both end their disillusionment. His eyes look extremely uneasy.

She sighs and rolls her eyes at him. “That’s what I thought. This is the second time you’ve hauled me into a classroom against my will and  _ not _ told me what you know. There won’t be a third, understand?”

“Wait- listen, what do you think he’s doing up here with Vince and Greg? They’re not up here for a game of exploding snap, I’ll tell you that.”

“So what  _ are _ they up here for?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps, running a hand stressfully through his hair. “Look, I’ll tell you what I do know. Blaise, he - well I don’t know if he’s an oneiromancer or what, but I’ve bunked with the fellow for seven years. There’s something fishy with him and dreams, I just know it. When you told me about those dreams you had, well - I don’t know for sure, I don’t have any proof, but I’m trying to find out. I thought - well, I thought you two were kind of friends this year, and I didn’t want you to be all mad at me for jumping to conclusions. Okay?”

She watches him closely, trying to see if he is holding anything back, but it’s fairly dark in the classroom. And, the part of her stupid heart that swells every time he does something sweet convinces her that she should be grateful he is being honest with her, for once.

“Okay,” she replies hesitantly. “I like it when you’re honest, you know. It’s a nice look for you.”

His mouth quirks slightly. “I have loads of honesty saved up just for you then. Now will you tell me what you’re doing sneaking around out here? If you tell me you’re madly in love with Blaise, I swear, I can’t be held accountable for my actions. I thought Weasley was bad enough.”

She shoots him a glare and frowns, thinking that her reason is just as flimsy as his. She briefly explains the time she saw Blaise with the book about dreams, and found out from Lavender that he had been lying to her. Still, having seen him with one odd book - once, many months ago, held in her full view, not acting suspiciously - hardly seems like grounds to raise the alarm.

He listens closely and nods thoughtfully, not responding aloud.

“I suppose I should thank you for being tardy to our date - which I’m clocking as having started thirty minutes ago, by the way, and you’re doing a terrible job so far. While I was waiting for you, I managed to convince Ravenclaw to give me this.” She shows him the stone, burning bright and blue in her palm. “She’s letting me babysit it until we find the real heir.”

He gapes at it for a moment in surprise before snapping his eyes back up to meet hers. “Well - that’s great and all, but I’ve a bone to pick with you. This doesn’t count as our date, you know. I still intend to take you out to dinner and woo you and all that.”

“It absolutely does count as a date,” she disagrees. “You’ve already had your hands all over me, if you recall.”

He sighs exaggeratedly and walks over to a nearby desk, grasping the edge of a chair. “Well, at least let me pull a chair out for you, in that case. I need to earn some date points, don’t I?”

She glances briefly back down the hall towards the room of requirement and sees nothing. “You certainly do,” she sniffs in agreement, but obliges him and takes a seat.

He takes a seat across from her with a clear angle to see out the door and watches intently.

“Tell me something,” she starts, watching him fidget in his chair. “How did you see me? I think I cast a fair disillusionment charm.”

He shrugs. “Maybe you do, but you came to a stop right in front of me. I could sort of, er, see your outline.”

“Well, how did you know it was me then?” she asks, genuinely curious.  _ ‘Quiet, Granger,’ _ he had said when he grabbed her.

He blushes slightly and shrugs again. “Lucky guess.”

“Lucky guess,” she laughs slightly, glancing behind her into the hallway. “Bollocks. You recognized the disillusioned outline of my body, didn’t you?” She’s fairly sure that she would be able to recognize his disillusioned shrugging shoulders if need be, but she doesn’t inform him of that fact.

It’s dark in the room, but she is sure his blush deepens and he says nothing.

She really wishes she could enjoy teasing him, but she is a bit too concerned about the other sneaky Slytherins at the moment. “Why do you think Blaise would be a part of this?” she asks, still suspicious but wracked with doubt. “He doesn’t have any Death Eaters in the family, right?”

Draco shrugs. “Maybe one of his seven step-dads was at one point. Or - is it eight? I’ve lost track. But no, I don’t think so. And he’s never acted the sort.”

She frowns deeply, unable to come up with an idea that could justify it. “Could they be threatening him, do you think? Crabbe and Goyle? Or blackmailing him into helping them?”

He scoffs. “Vince and Greg were my best mates when we were lads, but they are thick idiots. There’s no way they could’ve broken through your wards, or even come up with a dumb hair hex, let alone conjure cursed ice. They certainly could never blackmail anyone unless I told them what to do, and they’re definitely not leaders. No - Blaise is clever. It  _ has _ to be him, I just have no idea why.”

Something about that doesn’t sit well with her, but she is not sure which part. She is silent for a moment, pondering and somewhat grateful for the fact that he is actually being honest with her for once. “Well, there was no dinner at all, but the conversation has been nice enough. I suppose you’ll want to continue our date with an evening stroll through the castle?”

He pauses and regards her seriously for a moment before smiling slightly. “If you’ll do me the honor of accompanying me, yes, of course.”

“Very well then - though I’ll have you know, I expect a full dinner with you next time. A minimum of three courses.”

She looks into his earnest eyes and thinks that sneaking around the castle following Blaise around is more their type of date anyway, as opposed to dinner and small talk. He looks like he may even be leaning in to kiss her, and she holds her breath in anticipation when suddenly they hear the unmistakable sound of the Room of Requirement opening back up.

A smile ghosts his face for a moment, and they both quickly pull out their wands and disillusion themselves, preparing for the second phase of their incredibly odd date.


	26. Chapter 26

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing  
-Investigate the potential Death Eater students: ongoing, with no updates at all after fruitlessly following Blaise around the castle  
-Investigate the Eye of the Eagle: no, if Millicent Bagnold is involved for heaven’s sake, they must be working against the Death Eaters, albeit obnoxiously; indefinitely postponed  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: impossible!

Studying for NEWTs is fairly exhausting, though she has an unexpectedly interesting new wrinkle to deal with. Her - paramour? romantic interest? boyfriend? - has suddenly become a shockingly more honest (at her request) and talkative presence in her daily existence.

“I have a question for you, Granger,” Draco drawls lightly, making it excessively difficult for her to study as intently as she would prefer.

“You may as well start calling me by my first name, you know,” she replies, refusing to look up at him from her notes, knowing that his entire face is just one pretty distraction.

“Only when I’m cross with you, or during the odd life and death situation. My question is, when did you decide you liked me enough to let me snog you?”

She blushes, still not lifting her gaze as she flips over a piece of parchment. He is normally a decent study partner, though he has recently developed a penchant for chatiness. “I suppose if I have to say, it clearly started when you took me to Malfoy Manor. I’d known you were rich, but I didn’t realize you were  _ that  _ rich.”

He laughs lightly and her heart rejoices at the sound. “Come on now. I’ll tell you when I knew, if you like.”

She accidentally looks up at him and finds herself even more accidentally smiling. “Fine. It’s because the cursed ice has permanently addled my brain. It just doesn’t make decisions properly anymore.”

“There it is - that cheekiness I find myself on the receiving end of more often than not.”

She laughs lightly for a moment. “Oh yes, I’m sure that’s my most defining feature. I’m  _ hilarious _ , that’s what they say about me. Honestly, I suppose I had never considered you as being remotely dateable until you started saving my life all the time. I figured it was the least I could do to return the favor at that point.”

“Cheeky, cheeky, cheeky. Never even considered me! That hurts a man’s pride, you know. I’ll be honest, these last couple years - nearly every time we bantered, I’d convinced myself it was because you had it bad for me.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Couple years, really!”

“It’s true,” he insists, reddening slightly. “Can you imagine? It was earlier this year, when the whole love potion thing happened. I’ll never forget it, you literally thought there was a reasonable chance that I drugged you, and you said to me  _ ‘why wouldn’t I think it was you,’  _ and I - well, I was surprised that you could even think something like that, to say the least.”

She gapes at him, surprised but enjoying this excessively honest version of him. “But - honestly! You must understand why I would have thought that at the time though, right?”

He shrugs, clearly a little embarrassed. “It made me realize that I had misread a lot of things. I had apparently been stewing unrequitedly - I was fitfully jealous of Weasley and Potter, and you hadn’t even spared a second thought for me. That’s why I brewed the antidote for you. It didn’t sit well with me that you thought I was the same stupid git that I used to be as a boy, and I suppose I wanted to prove to you that I’d grown a bit.”

She hesitates for a moment, still a little uncomfortable with sharing deeply personal thoughts with him, but she perseveres. “Believe it or not, you might want to thank your father for securing my interest. I assumed that he would make you make an unbreakable vow to never date me or something awful like that, and - well, I wasn’t sure why the prospect of not being able to date you upset me so much...it made me think about things, at any rate.”

He looks positively gleeful at the thought. “I’ll have to owl him my thanks, of course. He’ll be ever so delighted. That night renewed my hope, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh? I never would have imagined that. I was quite rude to your father, wasn’t I?”

He grins. “Oh, you were - but you didn’t agree to his demand that you stay away from me. I thought certainly, if you still thought I was a slimy git then you would’ve had no problem agreeing to his terms.”

“I don’t recall ever officially changing my mind about you being a slimy git, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh yes you have. You’ve kissed me enough times now, you can’t take it back.”

“Maybe I kiss you in spite of that sliminess.”

He grins and grabs a hold of her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Not so slimy, am I?”

“I suppose not,” she admits with a smile. “Shall I spread the word? Though I must say, I’d hate for the rest of the school to find out you’re actually a romantic sort. The girls would come flocking to you, I’d have to hex them all away.”

“Yes, defend me from the savage girls, Granger! I must say - I know I was always a bit of a git, but I’ve never done anything too horribly awful, have I?”

He surely has, but she doesn’t feel like dredging up the sins of his youth.

“People always assume I’m evil, don’t they? Can’t say I blame them, I suppose,” he sighs wistfully. “Not that I was bitter about constantly getting interrogated by aurors, or jealous about getting specifically and personally uninvited to meet the Minister or anything.”

“If you don’t smirk so evilly all the time, maybe people will stop assuming that you’re evil?”

“An evil smirk?” He smirks. “Here I thought it was a devilishly handsome smirk.”

It is, and she leans forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. When she pulls back, it has morphed into a full fledged smile. “There, that’s better. You’ll recall that devilish is the opposite of what we’re aiming for?”

He reaches up to tug on one of her curls, and sod it, there is no way she is going to get any more studying done if he keeps this up. She leans against his hand as he rests it upon her cheek, and he leans in and is about to kiss her and her heart begins to do its little dance when a movement in her periphery distracts her, and she backs away from him quickly.

Harry slumps heavily into the chair in front of her looking more exhausted than she has ever seen him before.

“Harry, what happened?” she gasps, regarding him seriously.

He smiles weakly. “Honestly, it’s like I left one nightmare behind just to enter a brand new one of watching you two being  _ cute _ together, how awful.”

She glances at Draco somewhat uneasily, thinking that if she is having some difficulty being fully honest in front of him, then surely Harry will be struggling more deeply with the concept.

“Nightmares! Wetting the bed, are we Potter?” Draco unhelpfully chimes in.

Harry’s eyes are tired and somewhat unfocused, but he looks at Draco thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to her and speaking in a hushed voice. “I - think I know when the attack is happening.”

She can feel her eyes widen at that. “Harry…” she starts to caution him.

“I  _ know,”  _ Harry interrupts vehemently. “I have more of a feel for it now, Hermione. I don’t think he knew I was listening.”

Draco glances back and forth between the two of them with a curious frown.

Harry sighs heavily. “You may as well hear this, Malfoy. I think Voldemort is planning a simultaneous attack here and at the ministry, and I think he’s going to do it next week, the day of the Minister of Magic election.”

As Harry briefly fills in a shocked Draco to the extent of his mental connection with Voldemort, Hermione finds herself impressed with her friend’s inherent goodness. His ability to overcome years of an intense rivalry and come to trust so quickly is something she finds herself somewhat envious of, considering just moments ago she had hardly been able to confess to Draco when she began to notice her interest in him. She is simultaneously concerned about the potentially imminent attack and starting to mentally draw up defensive plans.

“Bollocks,” whispers a stunned Draco, eyeing Harry suspiciously. “He’s in your head! Reckon he could be listening right now? What if he finds out that you know?”

“He’s not,” Harry insists. “I can  _ feel  _ it when he tries to poke around.”

“Poke around-!”

“Oh-! The day of the election! Well, that’s the final day of our NEWTs!” she interrupts with a gasp.

The boys blink at her.

She clears her throat and recovers. Priorities, of course, but-

“And it’ll be Litha - the solstice. Gryffindor discussed it in his journal. Oh Harry, we have to warn the Order immediately.”

“The Order?” Draco asks dubiously.

She glances at Harry and receives a sharp nod before very briefly explaining the Order of the Phoenix and their secret efforts to fight against Voldemort. She refrains from naming any of the participants, however.

The boy looks extremely overwhelmed, opening his mouth to speak and closing it sharply several times. She imagines finding out one’s - girlfriend? - is aligned with a secret society bent on stopping the rise of the Dark Lord is something of a shock. “...Huh,” he concludes with a blink.

“I’ll let the DA know,” she continues somewhat nervously. “We - well, we should practice heavily then, shouldn’t we? If that muggle could break into Hogwarts inadvertently, then surely the Death Eaters will have no trouble. We have to be ready.”

A sad image conjures itself in her mind of Dumbledore and the stronger teachers rushing off to the Ministry, leaving an overwhelmed Professor McGonagall to organize Professors Flitwick and Sprout into a defensive formation. Without the aid of the students, they would surely stand no chance against who knows how many Death Eaters.

“I - think I might be able to help,” Draco offers, hesitantly. He waits until her encouraging nod and expectant look from Harry before continuing. “A couple things, yeah? Remember that fog spell from the hallway -  _ Excaeco Somnerri _ . That one would be pretty devastating, wouldn’t it? I suppose I can teach your little DA friends the counter-curse for it.”

“That would be wonderful, Draco,” she breathes happily, her silly heart aflutter.

Harry nods in agreement before frowning for a moment. “And the other things?”

Draco glances between the two of them uneasily and takes a deep breath. He lowers his voice when he continues to speak. “Well - I can tell you which students to watch out for, you know? Most of them will scarper, but there are a few to be wary of. Blaise is in charge, I’m fairly sure. I think you already have a pretty good idea of who else from our year might cause some trouble, but - well, there are some younger students as well who will be wanting to join mummy and daddy on the Dark Lord’s side. I can put some notes together.”

She gapes at him in surprise, remembering a time earlier in the year when he struggled deeply with the concept of ratting out his fellow Slytherins for simply hexing her hair. And now-! She is nearly overwhelmed thinking of the dramatic change in him, and entirely too flattered that she herself is a significant reason for that change.

Harry exhales heavily. “Malfoy...thanks, mate. That’s a lot.”

His gaze is intense. “I’m not doing it for you, Potter.”

“Draco…” she takes his hand and smiles at him. “Look, we have to go talk to the Order, but…”

He glances between her and Harry before nodding and turning away, dropping her hand.

Harry stands to leave, and as she prepares to follow she reaches out, gently resting a palm on Draco’s cheek. His eyes are a molten gray, intensely focused on her, and she leans forward and presses her lips to his.

He reaches a hand up to the back of her head, holding her for a moment as he kisses her back heatedly.

“Oh Merlin, gross,” Harry groans from across the table.

She smiles against Draco’s lips and backs away.

He watches her with a fire in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. “Hm, I hadn’t even considered the side-benefit of annoying Potter so much every time we snog. Might’ve tried harder to get with you years ago! Alright then. See you around, Granger.”

She rolls her eyes and shoves him gently before catching up with Harry, still cringing in disgust as they depart the library.

“That was awful,” Harry bemoans as they make their way to the Headmaster’s Tower. “Please,  _ please _ never do -  _ that _ in front of me again.”

“Do what in front of you?” she asks innocently, stifling a happy blush.

“Don’t make me say it,” he whines.

She laughs and nudges him lightly. “Sorry, Harry. I can’t make any promises.”

He groans one more time, before leveling her with a look. “Hermione...what do you reckon? He’s been saving your life half the year, his happy memory to conjure a patronus was of you, and now he’s willing to sell out his fellow snakes. That’s -  _ serious,  _ isn’t it?”

She frowns at him. “Perhaps. What’s your point?”

He peers at her closely for a moment, and she feels incredibly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “Do you think he…?”

_ Do I think he loves me? _

She shivers uneasily at the thought, thinking that if she can count on one hand the number of times they’ve kissed, surely talking about  _ love _ is excessively ridiculous at this point.

“Well, I’m tired, never mind me,” Harry interrupts himself. “Nightmares and all that.”

It is with great mutual relief that they approach the Headmaster’s office, and in short order they are admitted in to meet with what members of the Order could be summoned on such short notice. Dumbledore and McGonagall of course are present, with Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt as well. The faces of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are present in the nearby fireplace.

“Welcome, all,” greets Dumbledore with a light smile as he briefly thanks everyone for coming.

She is once again struck by just how  _ old _ he looks, and how tired. A decisive victory for the Order surely cannot come soon enough.

“Well, Harry?” Dumbledore smiles encouragingly.

Harry steps forward with tired eyes and takes a deep breath before explaining the extent of his nightmares to a largely concerned group of adults.

“So...yeah. The night of the election. That’s when he’ll attack, and he’ll go after the Ministry and Hogwarts simultaneously.”

“This is mad,” mutters Lupin.

“I’m not so sure about that, Remus,” Dumbledore interrupts, holding a hand in the air.

“We can’t trust these dreams, you  _ know _ that,” insists Lupin angrily. “Not after last time-”

Harry’s eyes flash dangerously.

“Remus,” Tonks whispers warningly.

“It’s a sound plan by Lord Voldemort, Remus,” Dumbledore continues, still smiling with sparkling eyes. “Imagine, if you will, what will happen when I show up at the Ministry with my wand drawn on the night of the election. Do you expect Minister Scrimgeour will presume I’ve arrived there to save the day? Or rather that I’ll have arrived as a usurper?”

The room is silently thoughtful for a moment.

“The Minister is distrustful of you,” Kingsley starts. “Although I expect we have another issue at play. The man running against him - Thicknesse - has been making unsavory connections as of late. We should have every reason to be suspicious of him.”

She frowns deeply at this information. A Ministry employee, and the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, not to be trusted! 

“A clever plan, indeed,” Dumbledore confirms. “We’ll have to go, of course, though we do have one advantage - thanks to Harry, Tom won’t expect us to be so well prepared. Kingsley, Nymphadora - we’ll need to rally the most loyal aurors to our cause, and ensure their secrecy. Minerva - do please inform our fellow staff members of what we should expect. The safety of our students should be our highest priority, and we’ll need to prepare evacuation procedures.”

“Professor,” interrupts Harry with a passionate step forward. “I want to go with you. To the Ministry. I want - no, I  _ have _ to face him.”

Hermione finds herself glaring at her dear friend most intently. “And what of Hogwarts, Sir? With the muggle incident from the other day - surely we’ll not simply evacuate and abandon Hogwarts to him?”

Dumbledore regards the two of them seriously for a moment. “Students belong at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. You’ll do well to stay here, as I’m sure the school could use you. Besides - I have a feeling Miss Granger here would be rather put out if you leave the grounds.” His eyes are fairly twinkling as he turns towards her, offering a slight wink.

Harry glances back bashfully at her for a moment before glaring around the room at the muted response.

“To your question, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore continues with a calm smile. “Fear not - I’ve no intention of abandoning the school now, nor ever. We’ll evacuate the youngest students, to be sure, but I have no fear of losing Hogwarts. It has an entire Army prepared to defend it until help can arrive, does it not?”

The Headmaster beams at her and Harry for a moment, and she feels a swelling of pride. They  _ are  _ prepared, thanks to Harry and herself, and soon to be thanks to Draco Malfoy of all people.

The discussions continue, but she and Harry remain somewhat quiet for the remainder. He leans heavily against the wall, clearly exhausted, and she moves to wrap an arm around him and hold him up.

“I’m - tired, Hermione,” he admits quietly.

“I know, Harry,” she whispers as he leans against her somewhat. “That’s the only reason I’m not going to chew you out for trying to abandon me here. We’ll need you, you know that, right?”

When the meeting concludes, Lupin and Tonks approach them, with Lupin wearing a somewhat ragged expression.

_ “Professor,”  _ greets Harry coldly, straightening.

“Harry…” Lupin sighs. “You know I believe you, don’t you?”

“Sure doesn’t seem that way.”

“Oy, Hermione,” Tonks whispers. “Come here a sec - let’s give the boys some time alone, yeah?”

She nods, giving Harry a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and nodding seriously at Lupin before following the auror.

“Oh, they’ll be alright,” Tonks tells her, clearly noting the nervous expression on her face. “You know how boys are. They’ll huff and puff and pretend not to be emotional, and in a few minutes they’ll be hugging and crying, just you watch.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am, you’ll see! Speaking of emotions, how’s my wee cousin these days?” Tonks grins cheekily.

“He’s - fine,” she blushes deeply, thinking of how much has changed since she last spoke to Tonks over the Yule holidays at the Burrow.  _ 'It was just one dance,'  _ she had nearly shrieked violently at the time. She certainly doesn’t want to admit the particular details of how deeply she has managed to explore his mouth with her tongue.

Tonks watches her reaction and her grin grows even wider. “I’ll bet he is.”

“He’s offered to help us,” she whispers, deeply crimson and ready to move the conversation forward from her relationship status. “He said he thinks he knows which students are likely to stand with the Death Eaters, should the opportunity arise.”

Tonks’ eyes widen in surprise and she seems to regard Hermione more thoughtfully. “Cor! He’d do that for you, eh? Interesting, that. Well - who did he name?”

“No one yet,” she admits, although she thinks about Blaise Zabini for a moment. She has spent the entire year defending Draco against accusations of being a Death Eater without proof, and she is not about to renege on that stance for anyone else. “I have my suspicions, but no evidence.”

“Best be on your guard then. I mean it, Hermione - Harry is sure to need you, as is the rest of the school. No sneaking off in the middle of the night for any romantic rendez-vous, hear me?”

She groans.

“Hey, look.” Tonks nudges her and gestures towards Harry and Lupin, in the midst of a tight embrace. “Told you so, didn’t I?”

The two women approach, with both men certainly not sniffling and hastily wiping the tears from their eyes.

“All right over here?” Tonks asks chipperly, though not entirely without concern.

“All right,” Harry agrees, and her heart nearly breaks at how tired her friend looks.

“Hermione,” Lupin greets, nearly as equally exhausted. “You recall what I asked of you when we last spoke, do you not?”

“To look after Harry, of course,” she responds with a nervous glance at her friend. “But as I said then, you needn’t have asked.”

“Well, do please continue to do so. I shudder to think of what awaits us in the coming weeks.”

“Of course, Professor.”

After they say their farewells and depart the office, she regards Harry seriously for a moment. She had sworn to protect him, but even without an oath of any kind she will do whatever is necessary to ensure his safety, even if it involves something he does not want to do.

“Harry...come with me.”

He exhaustedly lets her take his hand and lead him up several flights of stairs and down a number of corridors, surely knowing her plan and resigned to it.

“Starshine,” she whispers as they approach the hallway on the seventh floor near the Grand Staircase, and the door in front of them swings open politely.

Harry trudges along next to her down the hallway, staring sullenly down at his feet.

She clears her throat loudly as they approach the sleeping Godric Gryffindor portrait. “Excuse me, Godric Gryffindor, Sir!”

Gryffindor startles awake, gazing at her in confusion. “Wha…? Oh, it’s you again. The Head Girl. Come to bother me about my stone again?”

She looks pointedly at Harry, who shifts heavily and sighs.

“No sir, she hasn’t. I have, however. My name is Harry Potter, and I need your stone of power. May I have it, please?”

Gryffindor snorts loudly. “Well of course  _ you _ can have it, my boy! You could have come earlier you know, the eve of the solstice is nigh.”

Gryffindor departs for a moment and Harry sighs again.

“Harry,” she starts sharply. “Don’t be sullen. If the barmy prophecy can be trusted at all, then this is the last stone. We have the stones, we know the spell, and we understand the layout of the ritual. We know when it needs to happen. All we need is to find Ravenclaw’s heir, and we’ll be able to protect the school. It will be a huge setback to Voldemort, particularly if he expects to take the school somewhat easily. You understand that, don’t you?”

Harry shrugs, but nods tiredly. “Of course I do.”

Gryffindor returns with a huge grin. “Harry Potter,” he laughs boomingly, handing his stone through the portrait to Harry. He glances at Hermione with a wink. “Did you hear him introduce himself as though I wouldn’t know who he is? Ha! First he borrows my sword, and now my stone. Bring it back to me in its proper condition, eh Potter?”

Harry sighs deeply once more. “You can do whatever you want with it after we save the bloody school.”


	27. Chapter 27

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, and somewhat of a larger concern with both NEWTs and the pending Death Eater assault on the school  
-Keep Draco out of trouble: why not add it to the list? He’s sure to find himself in trouble of some sort before the week is out  
-Stop stressing out about studying for NEWTs: despite there being only one left - impossible!  
-Prepare for the pending assault against Hogwarts: complete, as best as she can at any rate  
-Finalize capstone project: in progress, and dependant on if the blasted ritual works and if they can find the bloody Ravenclaw heir, and she deeply wishes they had just focused on the damned arithmancy aspect of the project instead of getting caught up in prophecies

The day of the election fast approaches, and she only has the Ancient Runes NEWT left. Between NEWTs, the looming threat of an attack, and the seemingly more aggressive stares from various students, her nerves are fairly frayed. The tension throughout the school has reached something of a boiling point. Not only do Crabbe and Goyle seem to have been eyeing her intensely more often throughout the week, but so have the Ravenclaw boys, Goldstein and Boot to name two.

She has been having a dreamless sleep draught every night. Despite the lower quality of her sleep, she would rather not risk another last minute dream invasion at this point.

She has tried to not be alone in the corridors, just in case, and has found her friends eager enough to accompany her. Harry and Ron have been her constant guardians, of course, somewhat to the point of obnoxiousness, with Ginny often coming along as well. Lavender and Parvati, even, have volunteered for the job and surely scared off the would-be Death Eaters. Draco has nearly attached himself to her when the others are not present, shooting severe glares at anyone who so much as looks in her direction.

Thinking of Draco reminds her of her somewhat confusing most recent interaction with Lucius Malfoy. The family patriarch had sent her a letter the other day, delivered by the most impressively terrifying looking owl she had ever seen.

_ Miss Granger, _ it had begun, in elegant handwriting.  _ My wife sends her regards, and best wishes on your exams. Despite my current situation, I’ll ensure you that I still have connections to the outside world  _ (a threat, maybe?).  _ I would be quite upset should someone like, say, Antonin Dolohov lead an attack against Hogwarts within the week and injure my son and heir. Something to keep in mind. Best, LM _

She found herself debating if Lucius Malfoy was threatening to send Antonin Dolohov to murder her, or rather if he was warning her of an imminent attack. It was somewhat unclear. Even Draco was at a loss as to the purpose of such a letter.

She had decided that just in case, she should prepare the DA to at least be wary of Dolohov’s most terrifying curses, and that silencing him would surely be a wise practice if possible.

As she finishes her test and turns it in, a sense of relief washes over her. At least she can check one thing off her list. The other items are somewhat out of her control at the moment.

Hearing a shuffling behind her, she glances back to see that Blaise is turning in his test as well and following her out of the room. Her heart almost skips a beat as she observes him.

Despite spending so much time with him throughout the year, she is startled to note how different he looks. He looks -  _ tired.  _ His cheeks are narrowed to sharp points, and his eyes are sunken somewhat sallow. He has lost quite a bit of weight, and she thinks that a light breeze might knock the boy over. He is a far cry from the handsome, if somewhat haughty boy from the beginning of the year who she had imagined befriending.

Knowing that the boys (Harry, Ron, and now including Draco) would think her mad, she resolutely slows her gait, allowing Blaise to catch up with her. She temporarily puts aside the fact that Draco is quite convinced that Blaise is the ring-leader of the young Death Eaters in the school. There are still plenty of students in the hall, and she is quite confident that no matter what plans the Death Eaters have drawn up, it cannot possibly involve Blaise finishing his NEWTs at the same time as her and then kidnapping her in a crowded hallway.

“Hi, Blaise.”

He looks up at her tiredly. “Hullo, Hermione…” His voice trails off.

“How do you think it went?”

“Hmm?”

“The Ancient Runes NEWT?”

“Oh...fine, I suppose.”

“Blaise,” she peers at him closely until he sheepishly meets her eyes. “I suppose this is it, isn’t it?”

His eyes widen for a moment, and she could swear he looks scared.

“Another week and we’re no longer Heads.”

“Right, yeah,” he agrees, still looking spooked as his eyes dart around the hallway nervously.

“Blaise,” she starts again softly, coming to a halt in the corridor and waiting for him to watch her uneasily. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“I-” he hesitates, glancing around again.

She is quite sure he is ready to have a breakdown, based on the way he is looking around in a panic and his hands are fairly shaking. She remains quiet, watching him closely.

He sighs heavily, tears springing to his eyes, and not for the first time she doubts Draco’s assessment of the boy. A tired, scared, crying Death Eater doesn’t make much sense in her mind.

“Hermione…” his voice trails off again with a hiccough.

He looks nearly ready to have a breakdown right there in the hallway! Glancing around and praying that Draco and the boys don’t find out what she is about to do, she gently ushers the shuddering Head Boy into a nearby empty classroom.

“Blaise, it’s - alright,” she says quietly as his body momentarily shakes with a sob. “You can tell me, if you want to.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, slumping into a nearby chair and resting his head on the desk. “I’m - so sorry.”

Apologizing! She glances around nervously, despite remaining confident that she is in control of the situation, and it is impossible for this to be part of Blaise’s evil Death Eater plan.

“About what?” she asks gently.

“They made me do it,” he continues with a sob, voice low. “I had to - they threatened my mum, you know? She - she’s ill, and I had to - well, I had to protect her, didn’t I?”

She watches him with a deepening frown.

He looks up at her, eyes red. “You’ve been taking dreamless draught, haven’t you? I told them you’d figure it out, but they kept making me try to get them in. And when I try,  _ I can’t sleep. _ ”

The unease in her gut simmers and she continues to regard him seriously before nodding briefly, not wanting to discourage him from talking.

He lets out a slight laugh, or maybe more of a sob. “Well, you’re smarter than them, at least. They wanted to go after Potter at first, but there was - something - interfering with his head. But they were more than happy to switch to you. They wanted to break you, and when they found out I can do oneiromancy…”

Of course they couldn’t get into Harry’s head because of his connection with Voldemort!

“Who’s ‘they’, Blaise? Please, tell me?” She keeps her voice low and earnest. If it hasn’t been Blaise leading the group - then who? And how!

“You already know, don’t you? It’s-” his eyes widen and he lets out a cough. When he tries to speak again, a bit of blood leaks out of his mouth.

“Blaise, what-!”

She rushes forward and whips out her wand as he lets out a strangled cry. She watches in horror as jagged cuts start to bloom in blood on his forehead.

He gapes at her, eyes locked in unspeakable pain, and she can make out a symbol of the bloody gashes on his face. She recognizes it as being similar to the jinx she had placed on the DA sign-up parchment back in fifth year, though instead of planting the word ‘SNEAK’ on Marietta Edgecombe, this version is carving a horrific bloody skull and snake right into Blaise Zabini’s face.

He reaches out blindly and his hand is pale and shaking when she grasps it.

The next couple hours pass in something of a blur, as she drags a broken and bleeding Blaise to the hospital wing, briefly summarizes the situation to the matron and the excessively concerned Deputy Headmistress, then reconvenes with the Council of Hermione’s Protectors.

“You daft-! You did  _ what? _ ” Draco seethes at her menacingly.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Ron snaps at Draco before turning to her. “But honestly Hermione, you did  _ what? _ ”

She rolls her eyes at them both before snapping, “I had a chat with Blaise - yes, it was on my own, and yes, I’m  _ fine.” _

Both boys scoff at her.

“What did he have to say?” interrupts Harry quickly, eyeing her with concern.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like he’s the one in charge.” She quickly summarizes her aborted conversation with Blaise to the clear consternation of the boys.

“He’s lying,” Draco replies simply. “It has to be him, I know it. His mum’s fine, she’s on her eighth marriage and wealthy as all get-out. He admitted to oneiromancy, didn’t he?”

“You didn’t see him, Draco,” she insists. “Why would he have his own face carved up? It was  _ awful.”  _ She shivers at the memory of the blood dripping down his face and the soundless scream in his eyes. She doesn’t need an oneiromancer to tell her what to expect in her upcoming nightmares.

“He faked it. It’s a trick of some sort, or a distraction.”

“I hate to agree with Malfoy, but who else could it be?” asks Ron with a shrug and a begrudging glare at Draco. “Zabini is the clever one of the lot. We all know the rest of you Slytherins are wanking slack-jawed morons.”

Draco turns towards Ron with a growl and a positively feral expression on his face.

“Look, here’s what we’ll do,” Harry starts, taking a step forward and shooting a withering scowl at Draco and Ron. “We’ll keep an eye on Zabini in shifts, yeah? At least until sundown. I’ll grab my cloak and will send a messenger patronus if anything happens. If he is in charge, surely he’ll try something and I’ll stop him. If he’s not, then maybe whoever is will come by for a visit. In the meantime, you need to follow the other Slytherins and keep an eye on them. If you see something suspicious, sound the alarm. Maybe we can nip this thing in the bud.”

“What cloak? And someone needs to keep an eye on Granger,” Draco insists to the enthusiastic nods of the other two boys.

“Keep an eye on me!” she huffs. “I can take care of myself better than all of  _ you _ can. And Harry has had an invisibility cloak since first year.”

“Since first year-! Hey, don’t change the subject. You’ll have a babysitter, Granger, and that’s final.”

After a bit of bickering, she grumpily accepts having one chaperone for the remainder of the evening, at least until they have more clarity on what’s going to happen, and not without a severe glare for each of the boys.

She reaches for her charmed galleon and sends a brief message to the DA. The plan they had discussed throughout the week had been simple. They split up into pairs and were assigned a “Suspicious Slytherin” from Draco’s list to follow and observe. If they couldn’t find their mark or were spotted, they would reconvene with a smaller group in the Great Hall and determine what the next steps should be.

Ultimately, Draco aggressively volunteers to be her first guardian and take a round about the school, while Ron monitors progress in the Great Hall and Harry scarpers off to retrieve his invisibility cloak.

She shoots him a glare. “This is ridiculous, you know.”

“Is it?”

“It  _ is. _ You can certainly wait until after we save the school to try and sneak in alone time with me.”

“That is quite false, clearly I could not wait.”

The corridors are fairly empty as they patrol, and it makes her somewhat uneasy. No students are just mucking about having fun, as they should be wont to do after exams. She doesn’t see any Slytherins lurking in the shadows, nor DA members stalking them through the hallways. 

“Well, you should have.”

He smirks lightly, though she thinks he looks a tad nervous. “Does it bother you that I’m worried about your safety? Those goons have been targeting you all year, Granger, and we’d be fools to ignore that. If they see you alone, regardless of Blaise, I expect they’ll take advantage of that.”

“I can defend myself,” she snaps, despite the overwhelming evidence from the past school year that a little aid every now and again might have been welcome. “Besides, I expect they aren’t pleased with you either. More likely they’ll go after you and I’ll end up having to save your life again.”

“For which I would be properly grateful, I assure you.” 

She wonders when his smirk became so endearing, and stares at him for a moment. His smile fades, face morphing into something serious as he meets her gaze intensely.

“You have your stone with you, don’t you?”

He nods. “Of course I do.”

She pats the small pouch around her neck assuredly, as does he. They had agreed with Harry and Hannah to keep the stones on their persons for safekeeping and preparedness. She had spent all week digging through ideas about who the Ravenclaw heir could be. The other heirs were all in the same year - however, Michael, Terry, and Anthony had all been rejected. The girls as well, with poor Lisa Turpin being sent on a doomed quest to count the number of portraits in the entire school.

“I’m - a little worried,” she admits quietly, reaching out and taking his hand. “We’re as prepared as we can be, I suppose, but - we still don’t know who Ravenclaw’s heir is. And all of this with Blaise-”

“I’m worried too,” he admits quietly, eyes burning with intensity. “I’m worried for  _ you.” _

“I-” she cannot tear her eyes away from his. “I’m worried for you too.”

In less than a moment he closes the space between them and plants his lips against hers, earnest and desperate. When she kisses him back she cannot help but wonder if this might be the last time.

What if something goes wrong tonight? What if he gets hurt? What if  _ she _ does? There will be real Death Eaters involved in the attack, what if someone  _ dies? _

“Hey,” he whispers against her mouth. “I’ll protect you, and you’ll protect me.”

She twists her hands in his robes and pulls him closer, and he presses her to the nearby wall and kisses her deeply. She nearly sobs nervously against him, focusing on the feel of his mouth against hers, the taste of his tongue in her mouth, the feel of his body pressed against hers-

He groans and shifts his hips heavily against her, and she gasps when he dips his mouth down to her neck and catches that particularly sensitive spot-

She reaches one hand up to the back of his head, pulling him somehow even closer to her, while with her other hand she grasps his own, hesitating for only a moment before guiding him gently under her shirt. She shivers as his fingers graze her bare skin, and he pulls back to observe her under heady eyes.

His fingers dance a trail of fire on her skin, slowly making their way up and up and she almost cracks a smile as he reaches the clasp of her bra, struggling to unclasp it for a long moment before freeing her. He gently traces his fingers along the side of her breast before leaning in to capture her lips once more and palming her breast entirely, thumb grazing against her nipple until it peaks and she shivers.

She can  _ feel _ him pressing against her, and he’s so tall that it’s a little awkward, but she perseveres, and she reaches to the waistband of his pants and undoes the button, and  _ oh Merlin they are feeling each other up in the middle of the corridor and they might actually die tonight- _

He squeezes her breast roughly, and she snakes her hand into his boxers.

_ “Hermione,”  _ he gasps heavily, pressing his forehead against hers as she takes a hold of him.

Not entirely sure how best to proceed, she runs her hand along his shaft and he lets out a nervous little laugh as his hips jerk against her. When she reaches the tip, she runs the pad of her thumb delicately against him and he groans, leaning forward to kiss her deeply again, and with one hand still massaging her breast, the other reaches down and hitches up her skirt.

Her heart is pounding in her chest and she feels a little dizzy, and  _ is this really happening here and now _ and she pumps her hand against him and he shoves her knickers aside and  _ touches her _ and-

_ Oh-? Oh my-! _

She gasps against his mouth, and bucks her hips against his hand as one long finger enters her, then drags heavily against all those sensitive spots on the way out. He kisses her fiercely, and again he sinks his fingers in and out, in and out, again and again and her eyes start to glaze over and  _ ohhhh- _

“Oh  _ Merlin,  _ my eyes!” cries a rudely interrupting, mortified redheaded  _ git. _

She and Draco leap away from each other as if on fire, each rapidly adjusting their disheveled clothing.

“You’re supposed to be in the Great Hall, Ronald!” she nearly shrieks, voice wavering as she hastily grabs her wand and casts a quick spell to tidy herself up.

“You’re supposed to be patrolling the fifth floor, not each other’s bits!” Ron groans, hands plastered over his eyes.

Draco snorts arrogantly next to her. She thinks that at some point during the year she used up all her blushes, and decides to forego the embarrassment and go straight to rage. “What are you doing here then? Come to watch, or did you actually have something to say?”

“Merlin’s tits,” Ron murmurs. “Yes I have something to say - you need to come to the Great Hall with me, now. Something’s up.”

She frowns, but nods shakily after a brief glance at Draco, who - despite having been gasping and writhing against her moments ago - looks picturesquely calm and confident. It’s not fair, she thinks, that he gets to be so serene while her heart is still thudding painfully and she has a heat burning in the inner-most depths of her body and she feels extremely off-kilter.

With a jealous sigh, and much to Ron’s clear dismay, she reaches out and gently slips her hand into Draco’s awaiting grasp before they start their march.

As they approach the Great Hall, still hand in hand, she frowns upon taking in the scene. The entire DA is present and somewhat unsubtle in their alertness. She supposes they hadn’t practiced spycraft in any kind of way, so it’s not necessarily their fault, but it appears that the Slytherins must have noticed.

“This - is not good,” Draco observes in a mutter, and she can feel him tensing.

The only Slytherins in the room are a handful of third and fourth years, certainly much more practiced in subtlety than the entirety of the DA. She immediately becomes convinced that they are lookouts of some sort, and drops her hand from Draco’s with some amount of regret.

She glances around the room and takes in the faces of the mighty Dumbledore’s Army as they prepare for an assault from actual Death Eaters, not to mention potentially some of their classmates. She is proud to say her Gryffindor compatriots are looking somewhat fearless - Lavender’s chin is set strongly, and Seamus is grinning dangerously next to an unflappable Dean. Ginny is beckoning her over enthusiastically. 

On her way over, she notes that the Hufflepuffs are listening intently to a reddened but enthusiastic Hannah Abbott. Her other capstone partner, Michael Corner, is sitting sullenly with his usual pals, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot, all looking rather nervous. She makes a promise to herself that once the danger has passed and she has confirmed everyone’s survival, she still owes Goldstein a violent hex for insulting her some weeks ago.

The good news about the potential life or death situation developing is that she has given little thought to those pesky little rumors about her promiscuity, though having just been caught by Ron of all people with Draco’s fingers literally inside of her probably wouldn’t do her any favors in that regard.

“What is everyone doing here?” she asks Ron dubiously.

He shrugs somewhat helplessly. “Nobody could find the Slytherins they were supposed to tail.”

“I was just behind Crabbe, but he disappeared right away,” Ginny chimes in, looking glum at the thought, though offering a bit of a grin upon seeing her standing so close to Draco. “More agile than I would’ve expected from the idiot.”

“Not good,” Draco repeats nervously. “They know we have a plan. That means they’ll be ready for us.”

They. The student Death Eaters. The adult Death Eaters. Maybe with Dolohov leading the charge. She is in the midst of a deep shudder when another Slytherin approaches them.

“Don’t you lot look obvious,” Pansy Parkinson deadpans on arrival.

“Gryffindors,” Draco replies in an equally derisive tone. “What would you expect?”

“Oy,” Ron starts, but she holds out a hand to shut him up.

“What is it, Parkinson?” she asks quietly, watching the girl closely for a moment. Pansy looks uncharacteristically nervous, and that in turn sets her own nerves afire.

“Looking for Potter.” Pansy glances around the group before looking back at the Slytherin table with a heavy sigh. One of the young third years has disappeared, it seems, and Hermione tries to be grateful for a moment at the risk Pansy is taking by approaching them. “I’m surprised he’s not here playing hero.”

“He’s busy,” Ginny intercedes, holding her chin up high. “What do you want? We can tell him.”

Pansy raises a perfectly manicured, dubious eyebrow at Ginny and sighs heavily once again. “Right. Well, I just saw something that I thought might interest you lot. Vince passed me by in a bit of a rush. Looked as if he was heading to the astronomy tower. I highly doubt he’s going that way for extra credit work, don’t you?”

Draco scoffs. “That git. I’ll go wrangle him.”

“You might want to be careful, Draco,” Pansy offers with a frown. “Vince - you haven’t been around him much the last couple years. He’s a bit...scary.”

Draco rolls his eyes heavily. “Sure, on the quidditch pitch maybe. The git can hardly levitate a feather. I’ll take care of him.”

“Dunno why everyone’s trying to get me to agree with Malfoy these days,” Ron grumbles. “Crabbe’s an absolute idiot. He hasn’t even cast one spell to help us on the capstone this year.”

Pansy shrugs. “Did you ever think it’s because he didn’t want you to know how strong he’s getting?”

It’s an oppressively sobering thought, and Hermione wishes for a moment she could just go back to the darkened hallway with Draco and  _ forget _ about everything they are about to face.

At that moment, the school quakes and the candles flicker for a moment before fading to darkness.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some violence in this chapter

As the chaos builds in the dark around her, Hermione takes an authoritative step forward and addresses the DA.  _ “Lumos.  _ Listen up. We’ve prepared for this, haven’t we? It’s just as we planned, we can  _ do this. _ Ron - you know what to do, assign teams to their positions. Ginny - we’d better get Harry. He’s by the hospital wing, go find him and tell him to get to the astronomy tower.”

Ginny nods enthusiastically, after a brief glance at Pansy.

“Reckon I should go with too?” pipes up Hannah Abbott blushingly. “If Harry’s in trouble, I can help - I’ve got my stone, it can help protect us.”

She nods. “Good - yes, go with Ginny and meet us as fast as you can. Draco - let’s get to the astronomy tower. We’ll take care of Crabbe and start preparing for the ritual.”

He glances around at the bustle of students running around in a panic and nods, stepping closer to her.

Ron barks orders at the extremely nervous looking Ravenclaw boys, sending them to guard the courtyard entrance, before turning back to her. “Go Hermione, I’ve got this. I’m a strategist, remember? First place in the chess tournament,” he smiles lightly, reaching for her hand and giving it a light squeeze.

She rushes in and gives him a brief hug, and can feel Draco’s grumpy glowering from behind her. “I remember. See you soon. Do your best to keep them clear of the astronomy tower, yeah?”

“Yeah.  _ Go.” _

She breaks off their brief embrace with an encouraging smile and turns back to a frowning Draco before grabbing him by the arm and dragging him towards the astronomy tower.

“What do you say, Parkinson?” she hears Ron ask from behind her. “You’re in it now. May as well get that blood pumping and do a bit of fighting, eh?”

She practically hears Pansy rolling her eyes.

She and Draco rush down the corridor towards the astronomy tower. She is briefly glad that she had implemented her workout regimen so successfully throughout the year, as she manages to keep pace with the boy without  _ too  _ much difficulty.

“Don’t tell me it’s  _ actually _ true,” Draco mutters at her as they take a turn.

“What are you talking about?”

“The way he looks at you...Please tell me you and Weasley never actually - you know, you two didn’t ever - did you?”

She stutters to a halt and glares at him in surprise. “You’re asking me that  _ now?? _ You - idiot! Just shut up and come on, alright?”

Draco at least looks a little bashful at her glare and follows her up the staircase.

She casts a quick spell to muffle the sound of their footsteps as they approach, as well as a disillusionment charm. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start, and the two of them sneak forward looking for signs of rampaging Death Eaters.

She doesn’t see anyone, or any signs of activity whatsoever, and she wonders if Pansy was mistaken.

“What do you think?” Draco asks quietly from beside her.

“Not sure,” she admits. “We’ll need you here anyway, with Harry and Hannah for the ritual. It’s nearly sundown, isn’t it? I just hope our Ravenclaw heir shows up by then.”

He nods uneasily, and then they both snap their heads up at the sound. A faint whistling from across the way, and that familiar sense of unease blooms in her chest. Before she can lift her wand to utter the counter-curse, the dense debilitating fog of the  _ Fumos Maxima _ spell is upon her, and she reaches for Draco’s hand  _ (don’t leave me)  _ but she can’t find him and she can’t  _ see him _ .

“Draco!” she gasps against the fog, and it’s stronger, more powerfully oppressive than she remembers it being. She takes a step forward and her legs are  _ heavy,  _ and she tries to shake the delerium away for long enough to cast the counter curse-

She collapses to her knees.

_ Draco, where are you? _

Her heart thuds heavily in her chest and  _ she can’t breathe _ and a deep gasp for air only results in the fog making its way into her lungs-

_ “Luminara Inlustris!”  _ she cries the counter-curse out desperately with a cough, and the fog directly in front of her parts ways as her wand emits a startlingly bright blue light. The fog rushes up as if to form walls around the path of the light. She shuts her eyes tightly to block out the brightness of it, desperately taking in a deep breath of actual air.

Her relief as the fog-less air fills her lungs lasts for hardly a moment, for when the light fades and she weakly opens her eyes, she notices two menacing burly figures step into her newly freed field of vision.

_ “Stupefy!” _ she gasps, still unable to see clearly and trying to catch her breath and gesturing her wand towards the looming character on her left.

_ “Crucio!” _ she hears, and just as she sees the red light of her stunner knock its target down, she is hit with an intense stream of energy and-

_ Pain! _

Her body jerks violently and she is on the ground, somehow, twitching and being stabbed by a thousand knives all over her body and her jaw locks and her teeth clench together and-

She gazes panickingly into the cold, dark eyes of Vincent Crabbe, and the only thing she can think of in between violent muscle spasms is that she must have been wrong about him for years, because she never would have imagined he’d be capable of casting such a powerful spell, and maybe he could have taken more NEWTs-

Crabbe leans over her with a cold smile. She thinks, as her body shudders, maybe her parents could help with his teeth-

“Surprised, Mudblood?” He squats down to the ground and shoves a knee into her stomach, somewhat kneeling on her.

_ Wand - where? _

Her arms spasm heavily at her side, and the fog rolls densely around them, and she thinks she hears shouting in the distance, but her eyes are tired, and-

"Oh no you don’t. Stay with me, Mudblood. You’ve always been the smart one, haven’t you? Little Miss Know-It-All with her stupid, swotty big mouth. But I managed to hide my talents from you, didn’t I? You never saw  _ me.  _ No one at this stupid school did. Not you, not  _ Draco, _ not old Dumbledore. But the Dark Lord surely did. Shall I show you the things he taught me?  _ Crucio!” _

She hears screaming around her and her body shakes under his knee, squirming around with nowhere to go and she thinks it might actually be  _ her _ screams that she’s hearing, and the poor girl sounds like she’s in such dreadful pain-

Crabbe is holding a knife to her throat.

“Filthy little Mudblood  _ whore,”  _ she hears him say from somewhere above her, but everything is sort of gray and she can’t quite see, and she feels a strumming from somewhere deep in her chest. “It was always supposed to be me, Greg and Draco, you know? Lads since we were boys. We were supposed to serve the Dark Lord together, all three of us - and we would have, if it wasn’t for you. Draco,” he scoffs. “What a waste. Blaise couldn’t hold a candle to Draco.”

Her eyelids flutter open at his name.  _ Draco.  _ Is he - is he hurt? Is he okay? 

Something like a weak whimper escapes her throat. Crabbe’s knee is heavy in her stomach and he withdraws the knife, replacing it with a giant, meaty hand.

“Your nasty, used-up muddy pussy seduced him away from his rightful place.”

His hand starts to tighten around her throat, and something in her chest is  _ screaming  _ at her-

“And you’ll have to suffer for that, Mudblood. Might’ve been less painful if you’d just died properly in the hallway on Valentine’s Day.”

_ Wand…there it is, just there, just out of reach- _

Crabbe brandishes his knife at her threateningly. “A muggle death for you, then, Mudblood. Just wish Draco was right here so I could see that traitor’s face while he watches you take your last breath, but showing him your corpse will work well enough.”

_ Draco? _

His arm plunges forward and the blade of the knife slips directly between her ribs on her left side, and it slices deeper than the Cruciatus Curse could have, and just as a strangled cry escapes her lips, he wraps his other hand around her throat and  _ squeezes _ -

_ Wand - wand - need a wand - can’t breathe - _

She tries to kick out from under him against the crying protest of every muscle in her body, but he’s  _ strong  _ and  _ heavy _ and she gasps but no air gets into her lungs, but if she had her wand-

_ Accio wand- _

A blinding flash of blue  _ explodes _ from her chest, dislodging Crabbe’s hand from her throat, and as she sucks in a deep breath of air she gazes at her hand, stunned to see her own wand in it, and Crabbe seems to notice it at the same time, and as his eyes widen in surprise-

_ 'Diffindo!' _ she thinks she cries, and with a flash of light a small line appears on his throat.

He blinks at her with a frown.

The small cut from her severing charm starts to bleed a thin red line and for just a moment, they stare at each other with wide eyes and she thinks that they’re both  _ so young, _ aren’t they? He opens his mouth to speak, but blood pours out in a gurgle from his mouth and his throat and it’s landing on her face and her shirt and her body is still shaking from the Cruciatus and -

Crabbe collapses heavily, dead and bleeding on top of her.

_ Draco Draco Draco- _

With a groan, she nonverbally levitates Crabbe’s corpse (his eyes are open and vacant and haunting) off of her and struggles to her feet. His body thumps heavily on the ground next to her, and she doesn’t dare look at him.

Her entire body aches. She tentatively touches the knife blade in her chest, surprised that it hasn’t stopped her heart by itself and decides to leave it there for now. She certainly doesn’t need to risk losing more blood than what is already dripping from the wound.

_ DRACO- _

She glances around quickly, noting that the dense fog seems to be dissipating somewhat. She sees an unconscious Slytherin she recognizes as Harper on the ground, and vaguely remembers stunning him before getting cursed.

She sways slightly as she walks forward, and the world seems to tilt in front of her as she is struggling to keep straight, but-

She hears a cry from somewhere in front of her and rushes forward in a stumble. She sees bodies on the ground, two of them, and a third standing with his wand pointed downwards, and-

_ Petrificus Totalus! _ She’s not sure if she even says the words aloud, but a bright white tinted with blue shoots out of her wand, and it’s  _ powerful  _ and it knocks Goyle right off his feet and away from a prone Draco.

She stumbles forward and nearly collapses in a heap at his side, and-

He coughs slightly, gazing up at her with a slight smile as the fog dissipates entirely around them. As he takes in her appearance, his smile fades and his eyes widen in horror, and she vaguely realizes that she must look somewhat frightening. Surely, her hair got mussed and crazy looking from lying down on the ground, twitching about, and she runs a shaking hand through it self-consciously, and when her vision blurs in front of her for a moment, Draco instantly sits up to hold her steady.

“Hermione-” he gasps in despair.

Her hair really must look a terrible fright! It probably has all that blood in it too, from Crabbe’s gurgling throat-

She slumps heavily in his grasp and tries to steady her breathing, and she absently remembers that there is a knife buried in her chest. She tries to tell Draco, but her throat isn’t working right, and-

She gazes over his shoulder at a movement near the door and her poor heart, already weak from all the effort of the evening, slams against her chest in horror when she recognizes the face of Antonin Dolohov, leading the Death Eater attack against Hogwarts.

He spies them and immediately points his wand, and she manages to shove Draco back down to the ground before diving (falling, more like) out of the way of a red stream of magic, which crashes violently but ineffectively into the ground where they had just been grasping each other.

_ “Silencio!” _ she hears Draco cry, and she is sort of proud of him for remembering that she had silenced Dolohov herself once, to great effect, and-

She blinks heavily.

Dolohov is facing Draco, raising his wand and those slashes through the air look familiar, and his wand starts to light up in a bright purple at the tip-

_ 'Protego!' _ she shouts as loudly as her mind will let her, and her chest  _ burns _ and  _ ohh, maybe it’s the stone of power? her spells have been nonverbal and incredibly powerful. that might be interesting to study. she should add it to her list- _

The purple light explodes off of Dolohov’s wand just as her shielding charm encases Draco, and it’s  _ powerful _ and they all watch in astonishment as the jetstream reflects heavily off of her shield and bounces back towards its caster.

Dolohov’s eyes widen in shock as he attempts to dodge the surprise rebounding curse, and it strikes him in the leg as he falls. He rises almost immediately, no pain showing in his eyes, only a deep fury as he seems to recognize her. A few quick curses from Draco are easily blocked as he advances on her, and she didn’t think it was possible, but she feels like she has  _ run out of magic _ and she feels empty and she just sits numbly on the ground and watches her imminent death approach as she starts to sway-

Dolohov raises his wand, and his eyes are cold and violent and-

She looks for Draco, wanting to see him one last time before the end-

_ “Confringo!”  _ she hears a girl’s voice shout into the air, and an orange fiery explosion nearly knocks Dolohov off of his feet.

Hannah Abbott and Harry Potter charge through the door, wands out, and Harry is wielding the majestic and bloody Sword of Gryffindor.

_ Good job, Hannah,  _ she thinks vaguely, proudly.  _ You mastered the Blasting Curse. We worked on it during DA, didn’t we? Practice makes perfect- _

Dolohov limpingly starts to turn his wand against the newcomers, when a quick tripping jinx from Draco causes him to pause, furiously, and Harry charges forward with a battle cry and runs the Death Eater through with his sword.

Dolohov’s eyes are angry and a little surprised as he looks down at the beautifully wrought metal sticking into and out of him.

With a kick, Harry wrenches the sword out, and Dolohov collapses heavily to the ground.

_ Goodbye.  _ She closes her eyes for just a moment, and when she opens them the three heirs are standing over her with intensely worried faces. Their mouths are moving but she can’t hear any words, so she squints at them and tries to focus.

She’s bloody and shaking and everything hurts and she wants to tell them that most of the blood on her is Crabbe’s, so they really don’t need to look so worried-

“Hermione,” Draco nearly cries. “Hermione-”

_ I’m fine,  _ she wants to say, but her throat hurts and she had almost forgotten that Crabbe had tried to choke her to death (“a muggle death!”) not five minutes ago. Kind of funny, she thinks, since Dolohov got run through by a sword, and she tries to smile at him.

He has a black eye and his face is scared and worried for her and she wonders if maybe she might love him-

“We have to prepare the ritual,” Harry says, voice shaking as he watches her with concern. “Malfoy - get Hermione’s stone, let’s get them set up. Hannah - give me your stone, yeah? And take a look at her, please see what you can do to heal her -  _ please.” _

_ Good idea, Harry. Didn’t someone calculate that Hannah should be a healer? We did, I think, but I don’t remember when- _

She feels Draco’s hands pawing at her shirt and wants to tell him that now is not the time, but maybe later they can pick up where they left off in the hallway-

“Help her, Hannah,” he begs with a sob.

When he takes the pouch with the stone of power off her neck, she feels empty, as if her insides have been scraped raw. He presses his lips hastily to her forehead and runs after Harry.

“Hermione, hang on, alright?” Hannah whispers at her side. “I’m going to take this knife out and stitch the wound, okay?”

She nods, sort of, or attempts to do so at least.

As Hannah yanks the knife out, her vision swims to black again and she thinks she tries to scream and she feels  _ ice cold,  _ and as her wound is stitched up it seems to hurt even more than getting stabbed in the first place.

“Your throat...I’m going to cast a cooling spell, okay Hermione? It’ll make it a little easier to talk, okay?”

She attempts to nod again, and thinks that Hannah is right. The cooling sensation in her throat feels divine, and she latches onto that feeling in an attempt to ignore the pain wracking the rest of her body.

Her hands twitch uncontrollably at her side.

“All right?” Hannah asks delicately, helping her to sit up.

“...No, I don’t think so,” she admits, voice scratchy. She tries to take stock of the situation and maybe she should make a list.

-The world is spinning somewhat, and everything is a little blurry.   
-She feels her muscles spasming beneath her skin as if itching to escape from her body.  
-Her side aches, and her hair is still likely a mess, and  _ she feels empty inside. _   


She shakes her head, trying to clear it of the aftermath of her encounter with Crabbe and bring herself to focus. Glancing around, she sees Harry and Draco hurriedly setting up the stones on pedestals in the diamond pattern that Ravenclaw had helpfully drawn in her journal. Harry is lighting small fires underneath each stone, and they seem to come alive. The air smells thick and heavy with magic.

Hannah helps her to her feet, and she limps, leaning against the girl as a crutch on their way to the boys.

Draco looks up at her worriedly, and almost looks like he might cry, so she offers him the briefest flicker of a smile.

“I’m - fine,” she offers, voice scratchy and wavering.

He doesn’t look convinced, but nods and turns to light the fire under his own green stone.

They all look at each other heavily for a moment.

“Ravenclaw’s heir,” she rasps to them uncomfortably. “She told me the heir would come when the time was right, but there’s no one here…”

Harry glances around nervously and steps forward to relieve Hannah of supporting her. “Guess it’ll have to be you for now, yeah? Maybe it’ll hold. Come on, then.”

He leads her to the blue stone, resting atop a fiery pedestal, and she closes her eyes for a moment and just breathes. The stone is emitting a quiet hum as though it’s trying to tell her something, and it’s almost comforting.

“Here,” Draco is suddenly at her side pressing a small flask into her trembling hand. “Magic fortification potion. Made one for each of us - should help perk you back up, yeah Granger? Better than that awful tea you drink, at any rate.” He tries to keep his voice light but she can hear the strain. She thinks he keeps glancing nervously back towards the entryway, as if expecting an army of Death Eaters to storm in looking for Dolohov.

She weakly raises the flask to her lips and swallows it quickly. Almost immediately she feels its effects, as the strangely deep emptiness in her very essence seems to disappear, and she can practically feel her magic swirling about, waiting for use at her fingertips.

“The spell is  _ Praesidium Moenia,”  _ she reminds them raspily before demonstrating the proper wand technique. “And the movement is just so. Four times.”

Draco and Harry help steady her at the pedestal.

“We’d best hurry,” Harry whispers heavily. “Who knows how it’s going down in the castle - it was looking rough on the way up here.”

“Sundown, right? That’s what the journals suggested for when the spells will be strongest,” Draco replies, glancing out at the sun sinking down beautifully into the horizon.

Harry nods, squeezing her shoulder gently before taking up his post.

“Almost there, Granger,” Draco whispers, leaning in to capture her lips for the briefest moment before rushing to his own pedestal with his green stone glowing brightly.

She happily thinks that if he still wants to kiss her, then maybe her hair isn’t looking so bad after all, and besides, he made her an ointment to help with her hair once-

“Ready?” Harry asks, glancing towards the setting sun.

Hannah and Draco nod.

Hermione looks around desperately one last time for some secret heir of Ravenclaw to show themselves, but no such luck is to be had. “On the count of three?” 

Everyone nods.

“One,” starts Harry. “Two. Three.”

_ “Praesidium Moenia.” _

The fires in the pedestals seem to glow brighter and taller, engulfing the stones and taking on their colors. The blue flames shimmer brightly in front of her.

She feels something shiver inside her.

_ “Praesidium Moenia.” _

Four lines of fire emerge from the four pedestals, converging in the center of the diamond.

She feels blood seeping heavily out of the wound on her side.

_ “Praesidium Moenia.” _

The lines of fire congeal on each other, rising up into something like a shield above them and encasing the entirety of the diamond.

Her legs feel weak and her body is empty and she reaches desperately for every magical strand left in her because she just needs one more-

_ “Praesidium Moenia.” _

Every last bit of magic seems to drain out of her body, and she watches in awe as the shield they had started to conjure glows brightly and starts to  _ grow.  _ Rapidly, as she sinks to her knees she sees it start to spread out, sure to encompass the entire school in a protective shield before long.

Wavering, she notices the other three collapsing under the magical weight of the shield as well, and she locks eyes with Draco for a moment as she braces herself for an inevitable collapse.

He smiles weakly at her, and  _ they did it,  _ and she is tired and broken and hurting and in love and more than ready to shut her eyes and sink into blissful oblivion.


	29. Chapter 29

She opens her bleary eyes weakly, squinting as the lights from the hospital wing assault her vision.

Recalling the events of the attack on the school, she tries to catalogue the extent of her injuries. A list is always helpful, after all.

-Muscle spasms from the Cruciatus Curse: no apparent lingering effects  
-Voice issues from getting nearly choked to death: unclear, will test later  
-Blood loss from getting nearly stabbed to death: no apparent lingering effects  
-Magic depletion of some sort from overuse, perhaps: unclear, but she feels her magic swirling inside her as it should, and that devastating emptiness is gone

“Awake at last, Miss Granger,” comes a light voice from her left.

She glances up, somewhat surprised to see the Headmaster smiling down at her.

“Best to keep relaxing, else Madam Pomfrey will have my head, I’m afraid. Our matron is quite displeased at the amount of time you’ve spent in the hospital wing this year, you see. How are you feeling?”

“All right, considering.” Her voice appears to be fine, and she marks her mental list accordingly. “What happened, Sir? The last thing I remember is passing out on the astronomy tower.”

“That was two nights ago. You and your fellow heirs managed to save the school by restoring the wards,” he smiles proudly at her.

“My fellow heirs,” she blinks, astounded. “No - I was just a substitute. We never found Ravenclaw’s heir.”

“Are you sure about that, Miss Granger?”

She frowns dubiously.

“‘Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,’” the Headmaster quotes. “Cleverness, wisdom, creativity, a startlingly deep capacity for love - what, you don’t think you fit the bill?”

Ravenclaw’s heir…

Ravenclaw’s heir!

She glances down sharply at her hands, unwilling to think more about the possibility just yet. “What of the others, Sir? Harry and Hannah, and - Draco, they’re alright?”

Dumbledore nods. “Quite well, if somewhat worried after your health. They spent a bit of time as hospital bed neighbors with you, though they were released quite quickly. Naturally, they’re being celebrated throughout the school as we speak.”

She lets out a heavy sigh of relief. Glancing around the hospital wing, she doesn’t notice any other filled beds. “And the other students? Was anyone-”

“Some cuts and bruises, but our students did the school quite proudly. My Army is quite powerful, it seems, thanks to some excellent leaders. The protective ward you four cast was quite powerful - the Death Eaters inside the school were instantly banished, while the students who took up arms were secured in a stasis prisons.” His eyes twinkle brightly for a moment before turning downcast. “Only one student did not survive that night, I regret to say.”

She shivers, remembering the wetness of Crabbe’s sticky blood against her skin.

He was dead, and she had killed him. Her hands tremor slightly at her side.

“And - what of the attack on the Ministry?” she forces out, desperate to change the subject and avoid thinking about Crabbe’s haunting dead eyes.

“Something of a draw, which perhaps is the best outcome we might have expected. Voldemort’s attacks were rebuffed at every turn. It was disruptive enough, however - it took quite a lot of convincing for the Minister to believe that we had not arrived to usurp the position. In fact, the election results have been thrown out by the Wizengamot and there will be a special election in the near future.”

She frowns thoughtfully at that.

“Something interesting to note, Miss Granger - apparently, both the Order at the ministry and the students here at the school received help. An organization calling themselves the Eyes of the Eagle has been claiming credit for their efforts in the defense. I imagine you didn’t notice such a group helping so dramatically here at the castle?”

Her frown deepens, bristling with annoyance at the thought. Surely, assuming the Ravenclaw boys were indeed the leaders of such a group, she had last seen them looking scared in the Great Hall before the skirmish. Thinking of Millicent Bagnold, she thinks this must be a calculated move in order to accomplish... _ something.  _ “I did not, Sir.”

“At any rate, it’s something to be mindful of. There is already an article penned by the lovely Ms. Rita Skeeter in the Daily Prophet commenting on how helpful the group was. We all understand that rumors spread like fiendfyre, and the good or the bad can spiral out of control before we know it.”

She surely doesn’t need that metaphor further explained to her as she stews silently at the rumors surrounding herself from the school year. She briefly thinks about the fact that there had been a picture in Millicent Bagnold’s office of the former Minister herself paling around with Rita Skeeter, and wonders if there is something else going on behind the scenes.

“You’ll be pleased to know that your team has already received the highest marks possible for your capstone project. We’ve never had a team so thoughtfully save the school before, so it seemed the least we could do.”

“Are we still going to be able to make our presentation? I think we have some conclusions that might be beneficial for the school to hear.”

Dumbledore smiles and stands to leave. “Of course, Miss Granger, and I quite agree. But for now, rest.”

She does feel rather tired.

She stays in the hospital wing for another day, being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey somewhat constantly. It turns out, the only reason the knife wound in her chest wasn’t more damaging is the fact that it got caught up in the scar tissue leftover from Dolohov’s old curse, of all things. She is a little miffed that it more or less saved her life.

Harry and Ron are the first to see her, of course, bearing more news of the events from the night of the election. Ginny and Hannah had found Harry somewhat quickly, and the group was attacked by two Death Eaters and a couple Slytherin students. Ginny herself had single-handedly taken out one of the Death Eaters named Rowle before taking an unknown curse and falling out of the fight. Harry and Hannah had taken out the other attackers, with the help of their stones of power and Godric Gryffindor showing up in a nearby portrait and begrudgingly giving Harry his sword (“Ginny was hurt, but she told me I had to go find you,” Harry explains. “It was so selfless - made me realize that I feel...things…for her, you know.” “Very eloquent, Harry.” “Bah. That’s my sister, mate. At least you didn’t snog her in the hallway - the things I saw Hermione and Malfoy doing to each other will haunt me forever.” “Well - actually Ron, we - Ginny and I, that is, might’ve snogged a bit.” “WHAT-!”).

Ron, meanwhile, had not only worked with McGonagall to successfully organize the defenses, but he ensured that the majority of the Death Eaters were not permitted to reach the astronomy tower and interrupt the ritual. He did, however, sheepishly admit that he had gotten a bit distracted briefly whilst fighting side by side with one Pansy Parkinson.

When Draco arrives near her bedside with an excessively worried face, her heart does something of a somersault in her chest, and she can feel the silly smile make its way to her face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he agrees, still looking concerned.

“Not this now,” mumbles Ron, still glaring heavily at Harry on behalf of Ginny.

Draco glances at the boys - who will clearly not be leaving her side anytime soon - before turning back to her. “Granger, I thought we might get dinner at the Three Broomsticks once Pomfrey lets you free. A proper date this time, yeah?”

Her grin widens and Ron fairly groans. 

“Nobody’s inviting  _ you _ along, Weasley, so shut it.”

She is permitted to leave the hospital that day, and agrees to go to dinner with Draco that evening. The girls, of course, have quite a lot to say about what she should wear, while also discussing the outcome of the battle.

“Took out Rowle myself, I did,” Ginny grins enthusiastically. “The bat-bogey hex strikes again! He started puking up bats and couldn’t stop, then I petrified him. And Harry can sod off, I wasn’t hurt that badly. No, don’t you dare wear  _ that _ top, you’re not going on a date to a nunnery!”

“Try this one on, Hermione. So - Parvati and I took out two of those Slytherin oafs. They’d pinned down Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein, you know, so we came up from behind them and stunned them properly. Not even a thank you from Anthony, mind you. I’ve a right mind to hex him for being so rude! Hey - you never actually dated Michael, did you Hermione? Think he’s single these days?”

“I actually dated him, thanks for asking,” huffs Ginny.

“I never did, and I do believe he’s single. Better him than Anthony, at any rate Lav. So let me know if you decide to hex him - I owe him one as well.” Revenging herself upon Anthony for being a rude git managed to fall to a lower priority on her to-do list what with everything else going on, but she certainly hasn’t forgotten.

“This one is cute,” chimes in Parvati, holding up a dark blue top. “Very Ravenclaw, for the Heir herself! Hey Lavender, I thought surely Seamus was going to ask you out!”

“Seamus!” Lavender gasps innocently. “Why, I’d never!”

By the time she meets Draco at the Three Broomsticks, she is not only stuffed to the brim with gossip, but quite properly dressed and made up, with approvals from Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati. She thinks it might even have been worth putting up with them when he looks up and sees her, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

He greets her with a swift kiss on the lips, and she can’t help but glance around, curious as to who might see. For the first time, she thinks, it might not actually matter. Now that the Death Eater attack has passed and the offending students either imprisoned or on the run (or  _ dead _ -), it seems like it is safe enough for the two of them to be seen together, with the biggest threat being a bit more gossip before they graduate in a few days.

She catches a seriousness in Draco’s eyes that gives her pause, however.

He pulls her chair out for her at the table (“So chivalrous!”) and as they eat, he fills her in on a few more details of what happened while she was out of commission.

“I’m still shocked my father wrote to you,” he admits. “He sends his regards and congratulations, by the way, specifically on behalf of my mother. For not letting me die, you know.”

She blinks, thinking she should be surprised but she isn’t, and she resolves to send some sort of thank you note.  _ Thank you Sir for the warning about Dolohov - you were right, he did in fact try to kill us. Sincerely Yours, etc. _

“Seems I was wrong about Blaise,” he begrudgingly admits. “His mum actually  _ is _ ill. Dumbledore sent him home with a couple of those Order friends of yours - including my cousin! She’s odd enough, that Tonks. Should’ve known she was one of you lot.”

“Will you like her better if I tell you that she practically begged me to just ask you out as far back as last semester?”

He grins at that. “Maybe. Though it didn’t quite work, did it? She might’ve begged a little harder.”

“About Blaise - how is he?”

Draco shrugs. “Less pretty in the face, that’s for sure. Dunno if that’ll leave a scar, but probably so. I - can’t believe I didn’t see it...I should’ve known.”

“You believed what made the most sense,” she tries to reassure him. “None of us would ever have guessed that  _ Crabbe _ of all people could have done such high level magic.”

“I should’ve known,” he repeats, looking down at his plate and pushing the food around with his fork sullenly. “I’ve known him since I was a boy. Looking back on it all - I should’ve  _ known. _ And he hurt you, he almost…”

She reaches across the table to take a hold of his hand gently, and thinks she sees a tear threatening to spill from his eye. Crabbe’s lifeless eyes flash in her mind for a moment. “I’m fine,” she whispers, not entirely sure how truthful she is being. “I’m okay.”

“But you almost weren’t. And you’ll be back out there soon enough fighting them again, won’t you?”

As he rubs his thumb across her knuckles, he sighs heavily, seemingly steeling his face and her unease prickles.

“Hermione,” he starts, before hesitating and looking back down at their entwined hands.

Her heart stutters a little bit, having been expecting a charming celebratory date rather than something as serious as his face is looking. “Using my first name? Cross at me, are you?”

His smile is a little sad as he looks back at her face and meets her eyes. “Of course not, but I expect you’re about to be cross with me.”

Her heart plummets, but she tries to remain calm. “Oh? Why is that?”

“I - don’t think we can see each other anymore.”

She blinks at him, exhaling heavily. Her hand is still wrapped firmly in his, and his face is tight and sad. “May I ask why?” She is proud of the fact that her voice doesn’t waver, for the most part.

He looks quite pained, and he squeezes her hand tightly. “The Death Eaters, the Dark Lord - they’re not going away. He lost a few followers last week, sure, but it was hardly a decisive loss. You told me once that if something’s important, and if there’s something you can do about it, then you have to try, right?”

It sounds like something she would - and did - say, so she nods, feeling a stinging sensation in the back of her eyes.

He lowers his voice and continues. “Well, there  _ is _ something I can do. Everyone always expected me to be a Death Eater, didn’t they? I’m going to prove them right. I’ll go volunteer, tell them I want to avenge Vince or some such nonsense, and I’ll be a spy. I’ll work for your little Order friends, and I’ll help take him down from the inside.”

“Oh, Draco,” she whispers.

“It was nice to imagine a world in which I could be a potioneer,” he smiles, eyes still watery. “The capstone equation told me I wasn’t destined for evil, or for sloth, and it was nice. But - well, these are dangerous days.”

She holds her head steady. “They are.”

They are both silent for a moment, watching each other and grimacing and trying their best not to cry.

“We still have the capstone presentation, yeah? And - I’ll be wanting to say goodbye, properly you know, before we leave for good. You’re not allowed to take Weasley to the graduation feast, of course, and you need to know that I’ll have it out with him if you do-”

“Draco - can we break up tomorrow instead?”

He raises a surprised eyebrow at her. “Tomorrow?”

She blushes briefly and charges forward bravely. “Yes, tomorrow. That way - we can - be together. Tonight.”

His lips quirk into something of a smile and he squeezes her hand gently. “I - well, I wasn’t expecting - that is to say, I reserved a room upstairs. Not that I was planning on anything like that, but-”

She stands, leaning across the table to press her lips to his lightly, and still holding his hand she leads him up the stairs.

He laughs a little nervously as they enter the room together, hand in hand. He cups her face gently and locks eyes with her. “You - might’ve guessed, but I’ve never exactly done this before.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Well, despite all the rumors to the contrary, neither have I.”

He smiles and kisses her again. She thinks, as they help remove each other's clothing and make their way to the bed, that it’s the summary section of her personal capstone project. She had come into the year with a certain hypothesis about the boy, and after extensive research and experimentation, been proven completely wrong and had to write an entirely unexpected conclusion.

When he enters her she gasps and he pauses, making sure that she’s okay before starting to move, and it’s everything she could have expected. He kisses her almost desperately, and it’s sweet and a little awkward, and perhaps somewhat uncomfortable - and then suddenly, not uncomfortable at all.

When she awakens in the morning snuggled tightly against his chest, he is already awake and watching her with a sad smile on his face. She offers him a similar gaze, pressing her lips to his gently.

“I’m breaking up with you now,” she informs him.

“You’re merciless, Granger. Got all you wanted out of me, hmm?”

“Almost.” She kisses him again, resting a hand on his shoulder and rolling over, pulling him along with her.

He stares down at her intensely for a moment. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

She does, and she brings her lips to his once more.

The rest of the week consists of listening to the capstone presentations and packing her things in preparation for graduation.

Despite having already received the highest marks for a capstone project of all time on account of saving the school, she rallies the group for the presentation anyway. She starts with an introduction of what the original concept of the project was about, and Michael explains the development of the arithmancy formula (“Boo Corner, we only want to hear from the Heirs!” jeers a grinning Ron Weasley, with whom she will have to speak to very sternly at some point; Michael glowers at the rest of their classmates and their scattered laughter). Hannah, to thunderous applause, blushingly details the scope change upon discovering the prophecy and the stones of power, and Draco details the events of the night on the astronomy tower to enthusiastic cheers.

“In conclusion,” she summarizes, knowing it might be a little cheesy to paraphrase the Headmaster’s speech from the beginning of the year, but finding it appropriate enough. “It was through the teamwork of all four houses that we were able to win the day. Four together is stronger than four apart. Let us focus not on what divides us, but what brings us together.”

The graduation feast and subsequent party are bittersweet. She begins the evening being somewhat comforted by Ginny and Harry about her surprising breakup with Draco. Well, comforted by Ginny at least, while Harry stands around awkwardly with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Maybe he’ll show, and you can have one more dance with him,” Ginny offers. “You two made quite the pair at the Yule party - and it’s always fun to see my brother turn bright red.”

She smiles sadly. “True, though I imagine he won’t be making an appearance this evening.”

Ron approaches them with a light smile. After his heroics during the battle and a bashful apology to Lavender, he is at the height of his popularity amongst the students and has been taken for nearly every dance. “Who won’t? Quite a party, this is.”

“Malfoy won’t,” Harry mutters with a look.

“Oh,” Ron grins for a moment before catching the look on her face. “Right. Sorry, Hermione. Need me to punch anyone for you?”

“You’re an idiot, Ron,” mutters Ginny, rolling her eyes and grabbing a bashful looking Harry by the arm. “Come along, Harry. We’re dancing now.”

“We - good, alright,” Harry agrees with a parting smile.

Ron bristles as they go. “My baby sister,” he sighs heavily, leaning against the wall next to her.

“Not much of a baby anymore, taking out fully grown Death Eaters all by herself,” she observes, watching her friends dance. They’re swaying gently next to two very blushing faces in the form of Neville and her literal savior, Hannah, on the dance floor.

“Don’t remind me,” Ron groans. “I don’t like that one bit. What do you say, want to have a dance?”

She smiles, gently nudging him with her elbow. “With you? Absolutely not. You have a gaggle of admirers now, Ronald, no need to waste a dance with me.”

“A gaggle, huh,” he grins. “Time with you is never a waste...I suppose you’re right though. Ruins the fun if Malfoy isn’t here to see it. You’re - holding together all right, yeah?”

She sighs, unsure how to answer that question. “All right enough, I suppose.”

Thankfully putting an end to the conversation, Pansy Parkinson approaches the two of them with a bored expression on her face. “Granger. Weasley.”

“Parkinson,” she greets with half a smile, catching Ron’s face turn bright red. “Never got around to thanking you for the warning about Crabbe that night.”

“I noticed.”

“Well, thanks.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, and Hermione thinks that against all odds, they have accidentally become something like friends this year.

“No Draco tonight?” Pansy observes with a slight frown.

“No,” she agrees, keeping her voice neutral.

“Hm.”

The three of them stand together awkwardly for a moment.

“Well, nothing for it. Come on then, Weasley.”

“Huh?” Ron asks dumbly.

Pansy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, then. Granger wants to mope a bit by herself. Let’s have a dance. Unless you don’t want to?”

“R-right, no, yeah I do,” Ron agrees hastily, glancing at her with a sheepish grin before following Pansy away.

She smiles to herself, watching her friends enjoying themselves on the dance floor. Pansy hadn’t been wrong - a little time on her own moping seems ideal, though it’s clearly not meant to be. Michael Corner approaches her with a pleasant smile.

“Hey, Hermione,” he greets pleasantly.

She refrains from sighing heavily, and finds herself hoping he doesn’t ask her to dance yet again. “Hi, Michael. How are you?”

They make easy small talk for a bit, and she recalls the beginning of the year when she had been a bit proud of the boy for seeming to stand up to Draco during a group meeting. So much has changed since then. She wonders if some alternate version of Hermione - one who doesn’t have to deal with the constant threat of Death Eater attacks - might have been able to be happy with a boy like Michael. A nice, intelligent (somewhat  _ boring _ ) boy like Michael.

“Hilliard is thinking about running during the election,” Michael observes conversationally, if a little intensely. “For Minister of Magic.”

She blinks at that uneasily, as little bits of a puzzle seem to fall into place. Dumbledore had mentioned the rumors that the Eyes of the Eagle (who had somehow never settled on a better name for themselves) had been largely responsible for rebuffing the Death Eater attacks from the other night. Millicent Bagnold is certainly involved in some way, and suddenly her loyal underling Robert Hilliard is running for Minister, amidst all of the positivity surrounding the group generated by Rita Skeeter’s complimentary article.

It - might mean nothing.

“Lavender Brown asked me to dance, you know,” he interrupts her reverie, tilting his head at her with a smile.

“Oh?” she asks innocently.

“If I didn’t think it was yet another attempt to thwart me from asking  _ you, _ I might’ve said yes.”

She tries to turn her cringe into a polite smile. “Lav is sweet - you could certainly do worse than accepting a dance from her. I’m afraid I don’t intend on dancing tonight at all.”

His smile tightens somewhat. “Not with Malfoy, eh?”

She shrugs neutrally.

Trying to block out all thoughts of Draco, she focuses on spending the rest of the night with her friends. She takes a nip of firewhiskey with Seamus and Dean for old times sake, dances in feminine solidarity with Ginny, Lavender, Parvati, and Hannah (“No boys allowed, Seamus!” Lavender had squeaked, batting her eyes), and sneaks off with Harry and Ron to the astronomy tower, gazing out onto the freshly protected grounds of Hogwarts together with a sense of finality. 

Her to-do list in the morning is somewhat simple.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: if they try to get expelled  _ now _ , then they can certainly help themselves out of it!  
-Say goodbye to Draco  


-Get on the train

Feeling confident, if a little bitter, about her list, she decides to take a final morning stroll around the lake, and breathe the Hogwarts air for what might be the last time.

When she sees the outline of a tall, scowling blond up the path from her, she can’t help the annoyingly light flutter in her heart, and she tries to soberly remind herself that this will be  _ goodbye _ for who knows how long.

“Hi,” she greets, unable to stop the smile from sprouting on her face.

“Hey, Hermione.”

_ First name again. _

“Cross at me, already? And so early in the day,” she forces a smile.

A brief smile flickers on his face, but he doesn’t reply.

Her smile fades somewhat when he doesn’t bother to play along. “I thought we were meeting on the platform?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you,” he mumbles.

She peers at him closely for a moment. Something is a bit cold in his eyes, and she wonders what he could possibly have to say that might be  _ worse _ than breaking up and not knowing if or when they’ll see each other again.

“Draco - are you all right?”

He tilts his head curiously at her and takes a step forward, grabbing both of her hands in his gently, and-

She frowns. Something is wrong-

She has gotten quite used to his smell over the past year, like a garden of spices, but today he- 

He doesn’t smell right.

He leans in and kisses her, and his mouth is heavy and wet against hers, and she doesn’t know who this person is but  _ he isn’t Draco- _

She tries to stay calm, thinking maybe she can extricate her hand and grab her wand before he notices that she knows, and-

His tongue darts into her mouth, and as she whimpers and tears her mouth from his, his grip tightens on her wrists. “Oh,  _ Hermione,”  _ he whispers, pulling her closer to him and resting his forehead against hers. “Of course you’d figure it out right away.”

“What do you want?” she whispers nervously, feeling sick and trying to wrench her hands from his with little luck.

“Just this,” he replies with a cold smile on Draco’s face.

She stares intently at him and his ice cold eyes, and he certainly isn’t Draco, but  _ she knows him _ doesn’t she?

“When they said you were the heir of Ravenclaw, I wasn’t surprised, you know,” he says, still smiling stonily. “You’ve always been so clever. Might’ve been sorted into Ravenclaw, we always used to say.”

“We?” she asks calmly. She remembers a time when Draco had warned her about maintaining her same routines, but it had been more of a warning about avoiding Death Eater attacks, not some sort of strange stalker forcing her into a kiss and a conversation.

“We’ve been watching you. Our Eyes are everywhere.”

She wants to cry in frustration. She had thought she was done with the stupid Eagle Eye nonsense for now, and yet here it is, standing directly in front of her and holding her hostage.

“And?” she asks quietly, trying to determine if she had underestimated them and their desire to murder her, or if this is an extremely ill-advised recruitment campaign.

“And, you’ll see. We  _ know _ you. You’ll seek us out when you’re ready, because you know we’re the only answer. The right answer. And you’ll want to help us, when the time comes.”

It sounds like more vaguely prophetic nonsense, and she thinks she hates them even more than the Death Eaters. Evil as they are, at least they’re clear in their ethos.

“You were impressed by the Eagle in the sky, weren’t you? I  _ know _ you were, I just know it. It’s much more powerful magic than any old Dark Mark. We deconstructed the Dark Mark so easily, Hermione - we cast at the quidditch game. It’s beautiful magic, what we did, you would  _ love _ it.”

“You sound insane, you know that?” She does not approve of this veneration, and tries to kick at him, but he dodges her and squeezes her wrists sharply until she gasps, and pulls her to him and she bumps against his familiar chest.

“Careful, careful. You were eloquent, but wrong in your capstone conclusion. Four isn’t better than one. If one is right, and the other three are wrong, then…” He trails off and tries to press his lips to hers again, but she purses hers together tightly.

He smirks coldly at her with Draco’s mouth. “I guess it’s true what they say - that you only spread ‘em for Death Eater  _ scum _ these days. Never could understand what you saw in him...was it the love potion? Meant that for  _ me _ , you know, not him.”

She gapes at him in horror. She had generally assumed that the pranks and the rumors were entirely Crabbe’s doing, but to think-!

“Well, let me warn you now - Malfoy will get his, one way or another, you’ll see.” He loosens his grasp on her wrists. “Don’t reach for your wand now, Hermione. I’d hate to have to hex you, I mean that.”

His eyes are cold and vacant and it looks like he’s  _ occluding,  _ and-

“...Michael?” she whispers. But - it  _ couldn’t be. _

The smirk remains on his face but he doesn’t acknowledge her guess, dropping her hands and departing unhurriedly. He has his wand out, and - she doesn’t think she can get hers in time, and she doesn’t know if he’s still watching her, and-

Could it really have been  _ Michael _ of all people?? _ _ No, no, certainly not. She’s not sure, but his eyes, his expression-

_ Malfoy will get his, one way or another, you’ll see. _

After confirming that Not-Draco is out of view, she turns on her heels and sprints towards the castle, suddenly desperate to see the real him and his real smirking face and listen to him tell her that she is being dramatic, and that he’ll be  _ fine. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please don't throw anything at me!)  
> If you've made it this far, thanks for reading! <3 Last chapter will be posted soon.


	30. Chapter 30

She can’t find him at the castle and wills herself not to panic.

They had agreed to meet on the train platform, and she arrives ten minutes early, despite expecting him to be five minutes late, resulting in her anticipating a pending fifteen minutes of stewing in silence. It is far too early for many other students to be waiting for the train, so she sits on a nearby bench by herself and tries to steady her breathing.

She is startled out of her reverie after five minutes, when a lanky body sinks onto the bench next to her, and she gapes at Draco in surprise.

He smiles thinly at her and rolls his eyes. “Thought I’d surprise you by showing up early, but of course you got here even earlier. Swotty as ever.”

It’s  _ definitely _ him, and she flings herself to him and wraps her arms around his shoulders with a choked sob. He smells spicy and cedary and  _ right. _

“Hey…?” He pats her awkwardly on the back.

“It’s  _ you, _ ” she breathes, and she hastily describes her encounter with Fake Draco, much to his astonishment.

He blinks at her before cracking a tired smile. “You let him kiss you! You must have it bad for me, eh?”

_ “Shut up,”  _ she snaps, but she does afford him a slight smile, because oh Merlin help her, she  _ does  _ have it bad for the git. “You have to promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“Granger, I-” 

“Because if Voldemort or the Death Eaters don’t find out the truth and murder you, then the aurors might kill you on accident, or these stupid Eagle Eye wankers are more dangerous than we thought, and they clearly already have a grudge against you, and if they come after you-”

“Granger,” he interrupts with a dazed smile. “I’ll be fine. Okay?”

She shakes her head furiously. “I’ll protect you. I will, I swear it.”

He beams at her brightly. “I know. You always do. Hey, you don’t need to worry about me. Quit that sniffling, it doesn’t suit you. Here, I brought you something.”

She stares at him in surprise for a moment before glancing down at the parcel in his hands. “What is it?”

“Don’t you Gryffindor dolts give each other presents all the bloody time? You have to open it first.”

She rolls her eyes half-heartedly and takes the parcel from him, opening it up and looking inside to see a potion flask.

“It’ll clear up old Dolohov’s curse in no time. One dose, twice a day for five days should do the trick. Though - I suppose you might not want to get rid of it after all. It saved your life twice, didn’t it?”

It’s true, she supposes. She might not have diagnosed the cursed ice from Valentine’s Day without that awful cold feeling in her chest, and apparently the mottled, ruined tissue had halted the progress of Crabbe’s knife.

What an absurd year.

She sighs and leans heavily against him, and he wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. They remain like that, quietly sitting together on the bench in silence for some time, until they hear the bustle of arriving students off in the distance.

“I won’t be taking the train back,” he tells her quietly.

“...Promise me you’ll be careful out there?”

“Of course. You don’t need to worry about me, Granger.”

She doesn’t quite believe him, and she leans in close and presses her lips to his one last desperate time. He kisses her back earnestly, feelingly, and she wants to lose herself in him but there’s  _ no time- _

He pulls back breathlessly and gazes at her intensely. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” she agrees heavily. “Draco, I didn’t say it back the other night, did I? But - you know I love you too, right?”

His smile is tragic, laced with promises of what might have been. “I know it. I’ll - see you around, Granger. Yeah?”

She sniffles in an attempt to hold something back, and nods at him. “Sure, Draco. See you around.”

She gazes desperately at his face one last time before closing her eyes, not wanting to see him walk away.

He stands, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead before spinning on his heels and leaving the train station (and her) behind.

She takes a deep breath, hastily wiping away the stupid tears that have sprung to her eyes and trickled their way down her cheeks, and soon enough she has a smile plastered on her face as she greets her friends and boards the train, preparing to leave Hogwarts for the last time.

“All right, Hermione?” asks Harry with a concerned look.

She glances past him and sees Michael Corner engaged in a conversation with his lads, Anthony and Terry. Michael catches her eye for a moment and smiles pleasantly, waving politely.

She tentatively waves back and tries to stifle her frown. It really couldn’t have been Michael impersonating Draco, could it have?

“All right,” she answers Harry with a heavy sigh before slumping heavily into a cabin with him and Ron.

“What are you thinking?” he asks with concern.

She sighs and fills the boys in on her interaction with the Fake Draco, the Real Draco, and her concerns about everything - the Death Eaters, the Eyes of the Eagle,  _ everything. _

“...and if Hilliard gets elected, what does  _ that _ mean? We don’t know what their agenda is, these Eagle Eyes, we surely can’t trust them, can we? And what if-”

“Hermione,  _ stop _ ,” insists Ron, who had been listening to her rambling quite politely. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? We always do.”

Harry nods enthusiastically. “We’ll start with the Death Eaters, and we’ll defeat Voldemort. We  _ will.  _ And if these Eagle Eye twats are dangerous, we’ll deal with them too.”

“And you really don’t have to worry about Malfoy,” Ron grimaces. “The git can take care of himself well enough.”

She sighs, heart aching but somehow swelling with love for her friends, and she knows they’re right. The Order still stands. Draco will help them take down Voldemort from the inside.

They’ll keep fighting, and they’ll win.

It’s just like the beginning of another capstone project. She has a goal in mind, and simply needs to figure out how to achieve it.

She smiles, clasping her friends’ hands and already mentally drawing up a new to-do list.

-Keep Harry and Ron (mostly) out of trouble: ongoing, forever  
-Keep Draco safe: ongoing, forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! I've been getting into writing again after a looong time off and feeling pretty rusty. Would be grateful for any comments/feedback if you've got it!


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